Tangled Threads
by mmmkiwis
Summary: Skank!Kurt AU in season 2/3. Kurt was angry, crude, and most definitely did not need saving. People feared him now, and Kurt wouldn't have it any other way. But then a new transfer with no concept of boundaries showed up, forcing Kurt to rethink everything he knew about himself. His life was officially a teenage rom-com. Shit.
1. Chapter 1

_**Relationship: **Klaine  
__**Rating: **T for this part, goes up to R  
__**Warnings: **swearing, mostly  
__**Summary: **Skank!Kurt AU in season 2/3. Cause everyone has to have one, right?_

**A/N - **Hey! So I had this idea bouncing around in my head and finally wrote it out a couple of weeks ago. It's being updated on Tumblr a lot faster if you rather read it there. I'll update this as I have a chance to go back and edit the chapters. The rest of the chapters are much longer than this one. I think this will be about 10-15 parts total. The title is from Death Cab for Cutie's _My Mirror Speaks._ If anyone is interested in beta-ing this, send me a message on Tumblr and we can talk about it, and let me know what you think!_  
_

* * *

_Six hundred and seventy-eight days to go._

Kurt Hummel repeated it like a mantra in his head as he stalked through his high school, ignoring the fearful whispers and unabashed stares. New year, same old shit. Six hundred and seventy-eight days until he graduated and could get the hell out of Lima, Ohio and away from the Neanderthals he calls his "classmates."

Six hundred and seventy-eight days.

He really hoped he could make it.

Everyone in McKinley High knows Kurt Hummel. A few remembered him as the small, pale, wimpy, gay kid from freshman year that got thrown into dumpsters and was treated to slushies every other day, though they would never admit it to his face. Some whispered about how he used to sing and likes boys, but only out of earshot. One word about Kurt's voice or sexuality meant pain and broken teeth. Jacob Ben Israel could attest to that fact. People feared Kurt now, and that was exactly how Kurt preferred it. Alone and safe.

He worked his ass off over summer, signing up for self-defense classes under his dad's nose and working out weekly at the gym. Kurt reinvented himself halfway through sophomore year, and when he beat the crap out of Azimio Stephens and Dave Karofsky one fateful afternoon, people quickly learned that this Hummel was not taking shit. His wardrobe gained more torn black jeans and studded leather jackets, his ears got more piercings, his tongue got sharper. He put pink streaks in his hair as a giant _fuck you _to the whole stupid homophobic town and he sure as _fuck_ quit that loser glee club, no matter how much he missed singing. He was perfectly fine on his own.

His dad wasn't particularly a fan of the attitude or the cigs, but at least Kurt wasn't coming home in tears or covered in corn syrup. Sometimes Burt would just _look _at him, sad and regretful, and it always made Kurt's stomach twist with guilt. But his dad wouldn't understand why he had to change. No one would.

Kurt kept his expression carefully aloof and bored as he scowled his way through the mindless cattle in the hallways. With a disdainful glance at his schedule, he sighed and turned down the hallway with his locker. A thin arm slid around his waist.

"Hey, bitch," Kurt said without looking. A flash of pink hair was all he needed to know who it was. Not to mention she was one of the very few who could touch him on a regular basis. Scanning the locker numbers, Kurt stopped at his while Quinn leaned against the next one with her arms crossed.

"That is terrible for my self-esteem, asshole," she said, grinning sweetly as she watched Kurt wrestle with the lock. "My therapist would yell at you for hurting my feelings." Quinn smoothed down her black skirt, tugging the edgy ruffles into place.

Kurt cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at the pink haired girl and hit the locker twice until it popped open. He shoved in a few of his books roughly. "Your self esteem is perfectly fine," Kurt rolled his eyes.

"You're in a bad mood."

Kurt snorted. "Just don't wanna be here," Kurt muttered. He glanced at Quinn again. She was one of his best friends; especially after the year before when she got pregnant and the cheerleaders kicked her off the team.

Quinn went from being the most popular girl in school to a social pariah in less than a month. The only reason she even talked to him was because Kurt found her crying behind the bleachers in his spot one lunch period and offered her a cig. What actually cemented their friendship was when Kurt, at four in the morning, drove Quinn to the hospital after she went into labor and her mother was passed out drunk on the living room floor. He'd even let her cry on his bed for hours after she gave Beth up, broken and hurt and lost.

If anyone understood how badly Kurt needed to leave small-town Ohio and petty high school drama, it was Quinn.

She nodded at his answer. "Fuckin' preach," she muttered.

"Excuse me, hi!" a new voice interrupted, sounding way too bright and cheerful for the first day of school.

Kurt looked up and _stared_. The kid next to him was shorter than Kurt, with black hair slicked back with an entire bottle of gel and bright hazel eyes behind thick-framed glasses. He wore a black polo shirt, tight red pants that came to a stop above his ankles and a striped bow tie. A fucking bow tie.

"What?" Kurt slammed his locker shut and leaned against it, arms crossed and face schooled into his most intimidating _fuck off_ look. The kid seemed immune though, and stuck out a hand with a bright grin while shifting his satchel on his shoulder. Quinn snickered behind him, but Kurt ignored her.

"Hi! I'm Blaine Anderson, I'm new here," he said, and shit, he had a nice voice. And he's _cute_. Kurt glanced at the hand and cocked an eyebrow.

"And?"

"Um…" Blaine faltered when Kurt just looked at him but smiled again. "Yeah, so I was wondering if you could help me? I'm not sure where my locker is or my classes and…" he trailed off sheepishly. Kurt blinked at him and grabbed the folded paper in Blaine's other hand, smoothly unfolding it and scanning Blaine's schedule.

"Your locker's down there," Kurt waved over his shoulder. "Couple down from mine. And your homeroom's in the next hallway. Look for the room with sombreros and a teacher with nearly as much gel as you in his hair." Blaine opened his mouth to say thinks but Kurt shoved the paper against his chest, pushing Blaine against the locker. "One more thing," Kurt smirked and leaned in close. Blaine's eyes grew wide and Kurt almost felt bad for this, but it had to be done. "Don't talk to me again, Anderson." Kurt's voice turned hard and he felt bad when Blaine flinched, but he stormed off before he could do something really stupid. Like kiss the dweeb.

Unfortunately, Quinn followed, laughing her ass off. "Shit, Hummel, I think you scared the poor guy," she patted his shoulder. Kurt shrugged her off, already digging in his jacket for a cigarette. It was going to be a long day.

Quinn glanced back. "Berry's got a hold of him," she commented, and Kurt tried not to visibly bristle. He _hated _Rachel Berry. The fucking loud dwarf. Who never shut up and loved to walk all over Kurt until Kurt had gotten fed up and verbally eviscerated her before quitting the Glee Club right before Regionals. They'd almost had to forfeit and Rachel still hadn't forgiven him. Not that Kurt really gave a fuck anyway.

"He looks kind of nervous, but she's dragging him away. Missed your chance, Hummel." Quinn reached up to ruffle his hair and Kurt pushed her hand away.

"They deserve each other," Kurt mumbled, trying not to sound jealous because he's _not_. "They can bond over raiding their grandparent's closets and singing old musicals and shit." Plus, Kurt didn't even know if the new kid was even gay and he hated stereotyping. He got enough of that from the rest of the world.

Unfortunately, Quinn saw right through his bullshit. "Got the hots for the new kid already?" Quinn asked with a quirk to her lips that made Kurt uneasy. She kept up easily with his quick strides, growling at a group of Cheerios that dared stare at her. The girls squeaked and bolted and Kurt saw Santana, the head cheerleader, roll her eyes at the younger ones.

"No," Kurt snapped. It felt like a lie for some reason. "He's going to get himself killed if he doesn't change his clothes." A _bow tie_, come on.

"And that would be a shame," Quinn drawled, winking at Kurt and spinning away from his swat. "We calling Puck after school to celebrate not killing anyone today?"

"Whatever."

"Hey, maybe we can invite Four Eyes! Get him all loosened up for you?" Quinn snickered. Kurt glared at her stonily and she flipped him off as she sauntered off to her first class.

Kurt watched her go, annoyed. This year was going to _suck_.

* * *

He strolled into his first period honors calculus class fifteen minutes late after taking a smoke break behind the cafeteria. He'd smoked through homeroom and _still _was on edge. Twenty-two eyes stared at him in shock when Kurt slammed open the door.

"Mr. Hummel, so glad you could join us," the teacher drawled in a bored tone.

"Oh, you know me," Kurt smirked. "Wouldn't want to disappoint you, Mr. Herreman. Otherwise, where else would you get the joy from writing your first detention slip of the year?" His fake enthusiasm got a few chuckles from the class. Mr. Herreman snorted and opened his desk drawer, grabbing a green slip and filling out the lines. Kurt shifted his satchel and crossed his arms, taking the time to inspect his classmates.

They were all in varying states of surprise. Like jeez, just because he looked like a young James Dean and enjoyed leather and dyed hair didn't mean he had the brains of a slug. He was _proud _of his grades and fuck all of them for judging him. They don't know him. In the front row, Rachel Berry glared at him for some reason and Kurt wasn't touching that with a ten foot pole. Her voice could shred eardrums.

But right behind her and next to the only empty seat of course, was _him_. Mouth slightly open in surprise and hazel eyes wide with _something _and hair still gelled to an inch of its life. Kurt groaned inwardly.

"Hummel." Mr. Herreman held out the slip with a disapproving glare. "Don't make this a habit."

Kurt took the paper with delicate fingers and winked. "We'll see, honey." He strutted down the row and collapsed into the desk next to Anderson's with a scowl. He didn't bother to take out a notebook or write anything down, preferring to half-listen to Mr. Herreman attempt to explain limits and draw all over the desk. Blaine, of course, was studiously copying every stupid word that came out of the teacher's mouth, biting on his lip as he concentrated. And it wasn't adorable _at all_, okay. Kurt let his head fall to the desk with a groan.

Something poked his side. Kurt turned his head and glared at Blaine, not fooled at all by that innocent look. Mr. Herreman was still talking and Kurt took the second he turned around to write something on the board to kick Anderson's ankle.

"Ow! I was just trying to get your attention, why did you have to take off my foot?!" Blaine hissed, rubbing at his bruised ankle. He looked so hurt and offended Kurt almost laughed.

"Thought I told you to leave me alone," Kurt shot back. He leaned back in his chair and dropped his boot-covered feet on the back of the chair in front of him. The girl turned and glared at him but Kurt just looked at her, unimpressed.

"I don't like ultimatums," Blaine said, and _winked_. Holy hell; please let him be gay. Thankfully, _thankfully_, that was when the bell rang and Kurt shot up and almost made it outside before he found his way blocked by Berry.

Kurt counted to ten in his head. Slowly. "What the hell do you want?" he said, probably with too much bite but whatever. Blaine stopped behind him and Kurt closed his eyes briefly in exasperation as Rachel just kept glaring. "Seriously? I'm not joining your damn glee club and I'm not talking to Hobbit Number Two either." Kurt gestured at Blaine, who looked affronted.

"Okay, look, I'm not _that _short—" Blaine started but was cut off by Rachel.

"Leave Blaine alone!" She stamped her foot. "Don't drag him down to your depths; you'll just ruin his life like you ruined yours!"

Kurt smirked. "Aw, are you still bitter about last year? About not being the best?" Kurt tutted and cocked his head in mock concern. "At least I don't have to wash slushies out of my hair every afternoon." Snorting at Rachel's gasp, Kurt looked her outfit up and down. "Although that might be a mercy for this particular creation, because, Rachel, honey, white tights and animal sweaters went out of fashion…always." He heard Blaine muffle a laugh behind him and smiled. "Anyway, I gotta go. Teachers to piss off, babies to terrify. Busy life, you know?" Kurt sidestepped her, laughing at her horrified expression and walked out.

He did catch Blaine's quiet "so is he gay?" to Rachel though, and smirked. This could be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Relationship: **Klaine  
**Rating: **R  
**Warnings: **lot of swearing, mostly  
**Summary: **Skank!Kurt, Nerd!Blaine AU in season 2/3. Cause everyone has to have one, right?

**A/N -** _I've had a really bad day so I edited this part for you guys. Congrats! It's slightly different than the one one my tumblr (grammar fixes, some weird sentence construction issues fixed) but otherwise it's the same. If you want to read ahead go to my tumblr (center-of-the-storm) and click on 'drabbles.' The rest of the updates will be around this length (5-7k) and I will do my best to get them out in a timely manner, but school is kicking my ass lately. Word of wisdom- be nice to science majors because our lives suck. The song Kurt sings is "Young Pilgrims" by The Shins, who are fantastic. Enjoy the update!_

* * *

As cute as Blaine was, Kurt had plans for his life. And none of them involved dating a boy in ass-backwards Lima and holding him to this damn town. So, regardless of Quinn's teasing and Puck's lewd hand motions every time he caught sight of Kurt in the hallways, Kurt avoided the fuck out of Blaine.

Which, surprisingly, was fucking difficult even though the pipsqueak had only been at McKinley for a week. Seriously, Kurt was starting to wonder about the kid's stalker tendencies. And if he had help from the Glee Club, which of course Blaine joined the second day of school.

(It was totally normal for Kurt to know that; he had to keep tabs on his enemies, after all. And Puck was still in that lame show choir so it wasn't creepy.)

On second thought, hiding out in the choir room during lunch probably wasn't Kurt's best idea with Blaine being a part of the Glee Club. But Blaine had already found him last week under the bleachers, in the locker room, in the second floor girl's bathroom by the junior's science classroom, even in the _fucking kitchen_; those damn harpy lunch ladies cared way too much about his lack of a love life. One had even _winked _at him when she pointed Blaine to the back room where Kurt was eating. Bitch.

The point was that Kurt was getting desperate and the fucking hobbit kept popping up out of nowhere and trying to start to start a conversation. And he wouldn't fuck off; no matter how many times Kurt insulted his hair or stupidly triangular eyebrows. He just laughed! Plus, Kurt couldn't sit with Quinn or Puck with them making kissy faces at him every other damn minute. It was probably out of love, but Kurt had been over that shit for years. He was not boyfriend material and he'd accepted that a fucking long time ago.

Kurt scowled, flopping back into a chair on the risers. He dug around in his bag and grabbed his iPhone, sketchpad and a few pens, going back to work on his newest tattoo idea. _This _was going to be his ticket out of here. Drawing. He quickly lost himself in the music and the fine lines of one of the feathers. One ear bud hung out of his ear as he sang quietly while drawing, not noticing when the door to the choir room opened.

"_But I learned fast how to, keep my head up 'cause I," _Kurt brushed a stray hair off of his forehead and braced the sketchpad against his leg for a better angle. "_Know I got this side of me that, wants to grab the yoke from the pilot and just, fly this whole mess into the sea..."_

"I didn't know you could sing!" A bright voice interrupted Kurt's zen, and he so did _not_ jump and scream a little. He really didn't.

"Jesus _FUCK_, Anderson, are you stalking me or something?!" Kurt snapped with a furious glare. He glanced down at his drawing and cursed again. "Son of a…" He ripped out the now ruined sketch and crushed it up in a small ball and chucked it at Anderson's idiot face. Blaine ducked but it still hit his arm. Kurt growled and scooped up the scattered pens he dropped when Blaine scared (_startled_; Blaine couldn't scare a mouse with those adorable bow ties and his inability to wear socks) him, decidedly ignoring Blaine.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blaine close the door and pick the crumpled paper off the floor. He smoothed it out and studied it as he walked towards Kurt and dropped his bag next to Kurt's.

"You seriously have no self-preservation skills, do you?" Kurt stared at him, half exasperated and half amused. Blaine shook his head and sat down, grinning stupidly wide.

"This is really good. Do you draw a lot?" Blaine held up the wrinkled picture. It was a half-finished bird in an open cage with music notes on a scale flying out. There was a long slash of ink cutting through half of the drawing now, thanks to Blaine. Something seemed to strike Blaine and he squinted at the notes. "Is that the beginning of 'Blackbird'?" His eyes lit up. "By the Beatles?"

Kurt felt his cheeks flush at being caught. "Yes," he muttered, snatching the paper back and stuffing it in his pocket. He never expected anyone to actually understand the design so well and it made him feel kind of exposed. Naked. He schooled his face into its usual frown and went back to ignoring Blaine. Shoving his headphones back on and uncapping the large pen, Kurt began redrawing the outer cage bars and tried not to think about Blaine sitting three feet away and watching him. Shit, why the hell was Blaine still here? And why did he have he have his music on so low? He definitely didn't care about Blaine _talking_ to him. Kurt still didn't move to turn up the volume though.

They didn't speak for a few minutes; the silence only broken by the scratching of Kurt's pen on the paper and Blaine eating his packed sandwich. It was peanut butter and jelly and smelled really fucking good.

Blaine finally broke the tension. "So what song were you singing earlier?" he asked, like he was honestly interested.

Kurt eyed him appraisingly, and then offered one of his ear buds to the hobbit without making a conscious decision. His stomach swooped at Blaine's smile and Kurt hid his blush by searching for the song on his iPhone while Blaine moved his chair closer. Sharing headphones felt weirdly intimate. When the song started, Kurt went back to drawing, though his shoulders stayed tense. For some reason, Kurt sort of wanted Blaine to like his music. Which was stupid because Kurt shouldn't give a flying fuck what people thought of his musical tastes. But Blaine…_Anderson_…he mattered. A little. A really tiny amount.

"They're really good," Blaine said after the song finished. Kurt looked over at him. He already knew Blaine liked it; he hadn't stopped tapping his fingers to the beat and humming quietly. It felt kind of good to hear, though. "I don't think I've ever heard of The Shins, though, I'm sorry I missed out on them," Blaine continued.

"Why, you a top 40 guy?" Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Bet you listen to Katy Perry and Britney Spears and P!nk."

Blaine narrowed his eyes. "You're making fun of me."

"And you're catching on." Kurt smirked and went back to shading the cage bars. "But at least there's hope for you."

"Does this mean you'll educate me on acceptable Kurt Hummel music?" Blaine asked. When Kurt looked up, Blaine smiled innocently. Kurt let out an awed huff, half smiling.

"Maybe," he allowed. Blaine looked proud of himself and Kurt shook his head. And then his stomach decided to let out a traitorous growl.

"Are you hungry?" Christ, he shouldn't look so eager to help.

"'Course I am," Kurt growled. "_Some stalker_ was following me around all week; I couldn't exactly wait in line and buy food with him _right there._"

Blaine at least had the grace to blush. "Do you want the rest of my sandwich? It's peanut butter and jelly." He held out the half still in the plastic bag. "And I have an apple left too." He even _buffed _the fruit on his sweater like some Disney prince.

He was just really hungry. That's why Kurt accepted the offered food. It totally wasn't because of how Blaine's face lit up at Kurt thanking him and biting into the bread. It wasn't, okay?

* * *

"You have a crush."

Kurt closed his eyes briefly and pretended Quinn didn't exist when he wasn't looking. Like Schrödinger's cat. The illusion was ruined when she pinched his side. Hard.

"FUCK, Quinn!" Kurt shouted, glaring at his friend. "Would you mind keeping your harpy _claws_ to yourself, you crazy bitch?!"

"Don't ignore me then," she said grumpily, leaning back in the front seat of Kurt's car and tugging on her bright pink locks. They'd been touched up since last week, Kurt saw.

"I should make you walk," Kurt growled. "Hell, I should just _leave_ you here. Why the hell are we waiting for Puck anyway? Can't he get a ride from Teen Giant?" He crossed his arms on his Navigator's steering wheel and glared moodily at the damn school. Puck's stupid Glee Club was late by at least fifteen minutes and Kurt just wanted to leave this hellhole. He groaned and dropped his head on his arms.

"Finn's driving Rachel home," Quinn said lightly, not completely able to hide the jealousy in her voice from talking about her ex. Kurt rolled his eyes and rested against his arms again. He had no desire to relive that conversation. Quinn could rant for hours about the home-wrecking dwarf.

Quinn put a hand on his arm and Kurt raised his head to see the football team entering the parking lot. He tensed, hands moving into fists and breath coming in shallow.

"I thought they weren't practicing today?" Kurt muttered. He never would have stayed after school if he knew they'd be there. A lot may have changed since sophomore year, but Kurt wasn't stupid. He knew most of those assholes were just waiting for a chance to beat the crap out of the uppity town gay. A few of the guys saw his car and glared, but most ignored him. One of the larger linemen, Karofsky, lingered a few seconds longer and Kurt unconsciously readied himself for a fight. Karofsky was a fucking psycho, something no one else seemed to realize.

"Puck said he and the other football payers in Glee worked out a deal with Coach Beiste," Quinn said quietly. She looked nervous too. "They can skip practice once a week if they do their workouts before school." Quinn squeezed his leather-covered shoulder and Kurt realized he was trembling. From across the parking lot, Karofsky's cold eyes bored into Kurt and it was horrible. Kurt forced himself to breathe, in and out, in and out. Karofsky was _not _going to get to him. Not again.

The boy left eventually after joking with a few friends, but Kurt saw how his expression darkened the few seconds his eyes rested on Kurt. As he walked away, Kurt let out a shaky breath, only relaxing slightly. Christ, he shouldn't still be so scared. This Kurt wasn't anywhere near as weak as last year's version.

Quinn rubbed his back. "He's gone; you're okay." Her voice was suddenly tender and Kurt got a flash of the kind of mom Quinn might be one day. When she wasn't a fucked up sixteen-year-old; that was. She was the only one who knew that something went down with Karofsky the year before. But she didn't know everything.

"I'm fine," Kurt said roughly, shrugging off her shoulder. "He's nothing I can't handle." His knuckles were white around the steering wheel.

A few minutes later, another group of students left McKinley. They were a weird mix of jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, and losers. Kurt scowled at them, totally not jealous. He caught sight of Blaine laughing with Rachel, the kid in the wheelchair, and the Asian chick. Artie and Tina, Kurt remembered. Behind him, a boy with a mohawk fist-pounded the tallest boy and swaggered over towards the car.

"Fucking finally," Kurt grumbled, starting the car and unlocking the doors for Puck. Quinn shifted next to him, and Kurt glanced at her to see a look of longing. He sighed. Once upon a time, the unfortunately named New Directions had been a home for them. Not so much anymore.

"Yo, Hummel!" Puck called out, sliding into the back and ruffling Kurt's hair. He took Kurt's punch on his arm and braced himself against the two front seats. "Fabray, he fuck Anderson yet?" Puck winked at Kurt.

Kurt punched his arm again, satisfied with Puck's wince. "Fuck off," Kurt snarled, throwing the car into reverse. When he looked up, he saw Blaine wave hesitantly from the school stairs. He was still with Wheels and Goth Girl and Kurt could see how nervous he looked even from so far away. Against his better judgment, Kurt raised a hand in return. What could he say, Blaine wasn't nearly as much of a dweeb as his grandfather's wardrobe made him seem. He smirked at Blaine's resulting smile and the dropped jaws of the rest of the kids. Kurt Hummel _never_ waved. The gossip mill would be in full swing tonight, Kurt thought ruefully, noticing the Latina cheerleader shout something that made Blaine drop his arm and blush dark red.

He pulled out of the parking lot without another word, already knowing that Quinn and Puck weren't going to leave him alone now.

"So you two haven't hooked up?" Quinn shot him a knowing grin.

"No."

"You're at least going to tap that, right?" Puck added.

"No!" Fuck, he was _blushing_. Shit.

Puck laughed uproariously. "Hey Quinnie, I think we're embarrassing him!"

"I'm shaving your mohawk when you sleep tonight," Kurt threatened through gritted teeth. He gripped the steering wheel. "Or dying it pink. I have enough left over, dick."

"Aw, Kurt, come on," Quinn giggled and lit a cigarette, rolling down the window when Kurt shot her a look of death. She casually inhaled and blew the smoke out of the car with ease. "You love us," she said confidently.

Kurt snorted. He so needed new friends.

Puck leaned between the front seats and turned the radio on one of Lima's classic rock stations, grinning when Queen sang out through the speakers. "Yeah, Hummel, we're fucking awesome." He relaxed against the seats. "But seriously," Puck's tone lost the cockiness and Kurt paid attention as he drove. "Blaine's a chill dude. He deals with Berry's crazy."

"Blaine's okay," Kurt admitted reluctantly. He felt his cheeks heat up. Stupid complexion.

"Finn's kind of being a dick to him though," Puck said thoughtfully. "No idea what crawled up his ass."

Kurt snorted again. "It's Finn, does he need a reason?" Kurt grumbled. He ignored Quinn's dirty look. Whatever.

"Yo, take me over to the convenience store by 3rd, will you? I need a refill on cigs." Puck tapped Kurt's shoulder.

Without a word, Kurt shifted lanes. Maybe Puck can get him a box too. Thankfully, though, the subject of Blaine seemed to be dropped for the moment.

* * *

"Hey, Dad," Kurt yelled, toeing off his boots and dropping them unceremoniously next the stairs. The house stayed quiet and Kurt sighed. "Dad?" he called again, shrugging off his leather jacket and hanging it on the railing.

Kurt walked through to the empty kitchen, sighing at the dirty dishes in the sink from that morning. Burt hadn't been home yet, obviously, even though it was almost six. It happened most nights now and Kurt tried not to be upset.

Jamming his iPhone into the speaker system on the counters, Kurt flipped through to fun. and started washing the dishes. There was some chicken in the fridge, Kurt mused, and the whole wheat linguine from that new health food store on Allen. Guess he was making dinner tonight.

When his dad finally came home an hour later, the chicken was almost done and Kurt was just draining the pasta. Burt came into the kitchen still in his grease-covered uniform. But he was smiling and Kurt didn't trust that look because it was also _guilty_. He narrowed his eyes.

"You're pretty late," Kurt said neutrally, checking the chicken. The balsamic glaze was setting well; dinner was always ready. "Long day at the garage?" Kurt asked as he dumped the pasta into a large bowl and mixed in a small amount of olive oil.

Burt waved his hand dismissively. "So you remember Carole, right?" Burt said, hiding his nervousness remarkably well. Kurt straightened up and stared at his dad.

"Of course I remember Carole Hudson," Kurt said, not even bothering to tone down the sarcasm. "I also remember her fuckhead son calling me a fag. That certainly left an impression." He turned back to the pasta and stirred it savagely. He wasn't over last year. Finn was an asshole and this was his _home_.

Sighing, Burt crossed his arms. "Look, kiddo, I know that wasn't a good thing to do. She's been talking to him about your…lifestyle." Kurt rolled his eyes. "Hey, come on, Kurt, I'm trying here. I didn't say anything about those eyebrow piercings or the tattoos or the hair, did I?" Burt sounded tired and Kurt shifted guiltily.

"I really like Carole," Burt continued quietly. Kurt felt the pleading gaze on his back and he stiffened. This wasn't fair. "I miss your mom, but she would want me to be happy. She would want _both_ of us to be happy."

The words stabbed Kurt right in his heart and he sucked in a breath. It's been eight years; he should be over her by now, right? The oven timer beeped and Kurt mechanically got the chicken out. He dropped it on a plate and dumped half the glaze over the two breasts. Blinking rapidly, Kurt slammed the plate on the table in front of Burt.

"Your dinner." Kurt snarled. Without a backwards look, he stormed down to his room in the basement, leaving Burt alone in the empty kitchen. And because he was a teenager, he slammed his door behind him. Small victories.

He could still hear his father's groan of frustration through the door, though, and it hurt more than Kurt expected.

Fuck.

* * *

Finn cornered him before school the next morning.

"So, like, it looks like our parents are gonna try dating again." Finn mumbled, shifting awkwardly in his spot next to Kurt against the wall of the school.

Kurt barely spared him a look and dragged his sunglasses back down. It was sunny for September. He stuffed his headphones in and began flicking through his playlists.

"Dude, come on, stop ignoring me! Our parents are _seeing_ each other again!" Finn practically whined. Kurt turned up Simple Plan, letting the bass drown out Finn's dumbness. "Kurt!"

Growling Kurt yanked out an ear bud. "Whatever they do isn't my problem," Kurt glared. "They're happy. Leave them the fuck alone." Kurt replaced his headphones. Just because he didn't like it didn't mean he could make his dad miserable. Burt deserved more happiness than Kurt did anyway.

"Oh." Finn's face fell. Then it turned a weird mix of gassy infant and constipated and Kurt groaned.

"God, _what,_ Finn?" Kurt yanked out the ear bud again and rubbed his face in exasperation. "_What?"_

Finn looked around at the passing students nervously and leaned closer, dropping his voice to a stage whisper. "You don't, like, still have feelings for me, right?" Finn looked at him with wide eyes.

Good fucking Lord. Kurt took a breath and held it for five full seconds, but the urge to kill remained. Fuck it. "No, Finn," Kurt rolled his eyes. "You're safe from the 'molesting gays.'" He kicked a stone bitterly.

Finn's face had so much relief it was almost insulting. No, wait. It was _definitely _insulting.

"Would you have been so freaked out about me if I had been a girl?" Kurt snapped. Finn's eyes widened in surprise. "Fucking hell, Finn, I apologized for coming on to you. It was weird and you were straight. I shouldn't have tried. _But_ I know for a fact that Kelsey Klein followed you home and put a love letter in your _bedroom _every day for week last year, and instead of being weirded out, you were flattered. But never fear," Kurt kicked off from the wall and took a few steps away from the giant oaf. "Your appeal hit rock bottom that night after Gaga week. Now, this _fag_ is off to go infect the rest of McKinley with the gay. Don't get too close, sweetie, you might wind up liking dick too." Kurt waved sardonically and left Finn in his confusion. Blaine was walking up the school steps when he saw Kurt and raised his hand in greeting with a smile, but Kurt was in no mood to acknowledge it. He moved past the nerd without a glance.

He pretended not to notice when Blaine lowered his hand in hurt bewilderment.

* * *

Because the world was clearly out to get him, Kurt wound up being paired with Rachel during History. They were supposed to be answering the end of the chapter questions and Rachel kept shooting him strange looks when Kurt silently wrote down the correct facts without flipping through the book. It wore on him.

"If you stare any longer, I'm going to rip out your hair." Kurt snarled, glaring. Rachel gasped and grabbed her hair protectively. Sighing, Kurt moved on to the next question without her. He'd read the chapter the night before while avoiding his father. Not all of his time was spent getting high and stealing from small children, despite what his classmates thought.

"But this is AP. Are you sure you're in the right class?" Her eyes looked awed and scared at the same time. And judging.

Kurt slammed down his pencil. "Get off your fucking high horse, Berry." Kurt snapped. A few of the groups nearby glanced over at them, including Blaine, who was partnered with Mike Chang. Kurt dropped his voice and leaned closer to Rachel. "I have just as much of a fucking right to be here as anyone else. Fuck you."

"Kurt! Language!" Their teacher stared at him with shock.

This was just not his day. Kurt smiled sweetly at her while plotting ways to egg her car.

Rachel waved her hand. "Fine. Be like that. Anyway, I want you to stay away from Blaine."

"Oh really." This was going to be good. Kurt raised an eyebrow challengingly and Rachel faltered.

"I-I-I just meant." She cleared her throat. "We're going to Nationals this year," Rachel's eyes got that crazy gleam Kurt remembered from last year. "And we need Blaine to win! We cannot afford for him to be distracted or hurt by you!"

A pounding started up behind his eyes and Kurt tried to push down the anger threatening to erupt at Berry. "You do realize he's the one that stalked me, right?" He asked dryly.

Rachel shook her head. "He just thinks you're interesting, but he doesn't know the real you."

Kurt got cold. "And you do?" He glared at her icily, the class work forgotten. Blaine kept looking over at them with a worried expression.

Swallowing hard, Rachel seemed to realize what she just said. "Um," she started nervously.

Kurt breathed in deep and released it. Didn't help. "You don't know a damn thing about me, Berry," Kurt hissed. Without looking at her, he finished the last question on the paper. "Here." Kurt shoved the paper at Rachel's alarmed face, grabbed his bag and stood up. The entire class stared at him. Shit, he just needed to be out of here.

"Kurt Hummel! Sit back down, class is not dismissed yet!" The teacher stood too, trying to seem intimidating. It might have worked if she hadn't been like sixty and fat.

"I know it's hard, but you'll just have to deal without me," Kurt said in a mocking tone. "I'm out." He weaved through the scattered desks quickly, ignoring the whispers and stares. Fucking sheep. Someone called out his name, but Kurt didn't stop and left the room.

As he left, he heard the teacher admonishing "Mr. Anderson!" and he groaned. Sure enough, Blaine trotted up next to him a few seconds later.

"Hey, you ok?" Blaine asked, still with that stupidly worried expression. "You seemed really upset in there. I know Rachel can be a bit much sometimes—"

Kurt stopped in the empty hallway and rounded on Blaine. "Why are you following me?" he demanded. "What the fuck do you want? A fucking medal? You gonna reform the school's resident faggot skank, is that it?!"

Blaine's jaw dropped and his expression turned from worried to insulted and hurt in two seconds.

"Is that what you really think of me?" Blaine spoke in such a small voice that Kurt immediately felt like an asshole.

"Well, no one else is exactly jumping at the chance to talk to me," Kurt muttered, hating how it came out a lot more dejected than he'd wanted. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Why do you care so much?" Kurt kicked a lone pencil on the ground, watching it clatter down the hall.

Blaine just gave him an unreadable look and chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully. "You wanna get out of here?"

Kurt snorted. "Always."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they were across town and holed up in some small coffee joint while they waited to be able to go home. It was fairly empty for only two in the afternoon. Kurt was proud of himself; he'd lasted a whole week and a day and a half without cutting school. He hadn't done that for awhile.

But Blaine was absolutely hilarious as he alternated between self-satisfied and fucking terrified in his seat while sipping his gross black coffee. Kurt took a swig of his mocha and leaned on the table between them.

"Is this your first time skipping? Decided to walk on the wild side for once?" Kurt said with a grin. Blaine glared at him. He kind of looked like a disgruntled puppy. "You're safe from detentions, young Padawan." Kurt leaned back and relaxed. "Just tell them you puked in the bathroom. The teachers love your smart ass already, they'll buy it."

"I can't believe I did this," Blaine shook his head and tried to stop his mouth from twitching into a smile. "I've _never_ skipped school before. Oh my god, my parents are going to kill me." His face went white.

Kurt waved his hand in front of Blaine. "Hey. Dweeb. You'll be fine. Probably." Winking, Kurt drank the rest of his coffee and stretched out his hand and patted Blaine's arm. "Seriously, just relax. It's one time and you're drinking your weird coffee, life's okay for now, right?"

An old woman across the shop caught his eye and she smiled at him. Kurt frowned in confusion and glanced back at Blaine, who was staring at Kurt's hand on his arm. Realizing what it looked like, Kurt quickly yanked his hand back and crossed his arms, furiously trying not to blush. The old bat smiled and _gave him a thumbs up_; what the hell was wrong with this town? He still didn't even know if Blaine was gay, though the show choir and boat shoes definitely pointed in the right direction. And straight guys didn't often wear shirts that tight. When Blaine grabbed his coffee, Kurt could see the toned muscles in his biceps shifting and _fuck_, that just wasn't fair.

"God, I need a drink," Kurt muttered, mouth suddenly dry. He dug around in his jacket for a cig, finally finding his crumpled box and sticking one in his mouth. Feeling eyes on him, he glanced up to see Blaine watching him with a vague expression of digust. "Um. Want one?" Kurt tried, holding out the box.

"You know those are like, really bad for you, right?" Blaine said, wrinkling his nose in displeasure.

Oh, he was one of _those_ guys. Kurt quickly took out the cig between his teeth and stared at it. "Oh, _are_ they?" Kurt gasped, eyes wide and mocking. "I had _no _idea! Thank god you were here, Anderson, to save me from the dangers of nicotine! Quick, take it! Take them all before I get lung cancer and die!" Kurt chucked the carton at Blaine's stupid face, nearly knocking over his coffee in the process.

"Ha ha." Blaine glared at him as he righted his cup. "You think you're so funny, Hummel." He tossed the carton back to Kurt.

"Oh, I'm hilarious, Anderson." Kurt stuffed it back in his pocket, but did drop his cigarette in his empty coffee cup. He didn't really want it anyway; the smoke always got in his clothes and it took forever to wash out.

"Uh huh." Blaine hid his grin behind the coffee cup and Kurt couldn't help thinking how cute he looked. Shit. Blaine shifted and fixed Kurt with a look.

The kind of look that meant he wanted to _talk_. Kurt stiffened. And here was where it was all going to go wrong. He sort of liked hanging out with Anderson; he could relax and not be so uptight and scary all the time. Like how when he started singing along to Taking Back Sunday in the car, Blaine just smiled and enjoyed it instead of teasing him. Kurt wasn't really ready to let it all go to shit just yet.

Kurt checked his watch, sighing half in relief and half in regret. "Time's up. I gotta get back to school for Quinn and Puckerman." He started gathering his things, grabbing his empty cup. "You want me to toss yours?" Kurt gestured towards Blaine's half-filled cup.

Blaine blinked at him in surprise.

Kurt frowned. "Christ, Anderson, I wasn't raised in a fucking barn, I am capable of having manners," he muttered defensively and started towards the door. Just for that, Anderson can throw away his own damn trash. Blaine caught up with him outside.

"I'm sorry. You're right, I should stop judging you." Blaine said, looking abashed. "You're so much more than your earrings and hair and big scary boots make you seem." He wiggled his ridiculous eyebrows and Kurt couldn't stop a bark of laughter.

"You think my boots are scary?" Kurt stopped and held one leg out. They were his favorite pair actually, chosen mostly for the intimidation factor.

Blaine knocked his shoulders with his own. "They're big and black and have _spikes_ on them. Terrifying." He dodged Kurt's playful kick with a grin.

"So you don't like them?" Kurt tried for nonchalance, but Blaine shot him a knowing look. Shit.

"I never said that," Blaine said lightly and winked, causing Kurt's heart to jump. He waited by the car door for Kurt to unlock it, then slid into the passenger seat. Kurt took a second to breathe.

What the hell was Anderson doing to him?

They drove back to school without talking, just the radio on. There was about five minutes left before the last bell by the time Kurt pulled in and he grabbed a spot close to Blaine's car. Shutting off the car, Kurt stared at the wheel, knowing it was his turn to talk. Blaine waited patiently.

"Um. Thanks for ditching with me," Kurt muttered. "It wasn't that bad." Christ, that sounded horrible. He was never going to see Blaine again after this.

"High praise from Mr. Hummel," Blaine said, mouth curving up into a grin.

Kurt shoved him lightly. "Shut up!" Kurt couldn't fully stop his grin though. "Anyway, get out; you don't want to be seen with me when the rest of the brainless scum that go here come out." He tried not to sound too bitter. Blaine's face fell but he slid out anyway.

Kurt watched him go sadly. The coffee was nice. It was almost like having a real friend. Besides Quinn and Puck, no one spoke to him unless it was to insult him. Blaine was different. Kurt rubbed his face. God, he was going soft.

A tap on his window startled Kurt and he looked over to see Blaine standing outside his door. Blaine motioned for Kurt to roll down his window.

"Are you okay?" Blaine got out in a rush as soon as Kurt had the glass down. Kurt stared at him because what the hell. Shifting nervously under Kurt's gaze, Blaine cleared his throat. "I-I-I just meant…um," Blaine stammered, eyes wide. "You just seemed really upset earlier and I just wanted to…um. Can I text you later?"

"You want to talk to me?" Kurt hated how he sounded so surprised and even Blaine winced, like he _pitied _Kurt. Fuck this. Kurt bristled. "I don't need your pity, Anderson. I'm a big boy; I'm not gonna burst into tears every time some girl with an overinflated ego insults me. I'm fine." He snapped, starting to roll up the window.

Blaine panicked and waved frantically. "Wait, wait! That's not what I meant!"

Jesus _Christ_. "Spit it out, Anderson!" Kurt looked at him expectantly, already annoyed with the whole situation. He just needed to drop Quinn and Puck off somewhere so they could do their weekly angry hook-up and then he could go home and avoid his father and _Carole_ again. Finn was supposed to come over for dinner. Oh joy.

Blaine swallowed and looked around, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Well, I could use someone. To talk to, I mean." He said in a small voice and Kurt narrowed his eyes. Something tugged at his stomach and Kurt was suddenly…worried.

"Give me your phone." He found himself saying. Blaine's eyes widened, but he fumbled his phone out and gave it to Kurt through the window. Kurt quickly typed in some basic info, putting himself in under "Gay Badass Kurt Hummel." He never claimed to be subtle. After texting himself from Blaine's phone, Kurt tossed it back to Blaine. "After I get rid of Quinn and Puck. I can. Text you." Christ, now _he's_ blushing. Kurt definitely needed a drink.

Blaine nodded, eyes bright and excited. "Y-yeah! Definitely! Um…" The bell sounded, muffled. Blaine glared at the school. "Um. I guess I'll just…go?" It came out as a question and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Probably a good idea."

"Oh. Okay. Um. I'll see you?"

"Bye, Anderson," Kurt waved with a raised eyebrow. "Go, or I'll kick your ass."

"Okay, okay! Bye, Kurt." Blaine grinned again and walked to his car. Kurt watched him go, totally not admiring his ass. Quinn and Puck walked past him and Kurt groaned at their expressions.

Quinn was the first in the car, throwing her bag into the backseat. "So, heard you skipped with Anderson today. Sneaking off for some afternoon delight?" She smiled sweetly and Puck laughed at Kurt's mortified face.

"I'm not sleeping with him and I don't even know if he's gay!" Kurt yelled.

Puck ruffled Kurt's hair. "Of course he is. I overheard him asking Berry about you yesterday. _And_ he defended your dumb ass when she bitched about you yelling at her in class. Even Santana said something."

"I hate both of you," Kurt muttered, pulling out of the parking spot a little too fast. If he scared Hudson, well. He was being a dick to Blaine anyway. Kurt smiled to himself as Quinn and Puck teased him, ignoring them. He totally had Blaine Anderson's number.

And he was _definitely _gay.


	3. Chapter 3

_******Relationship: **Klaine**  
****Rating: **R**  
****Warnings: **Swearing, fighting, homophobic language**  
****Summary: **Skank!Kurt, Nerd!Blaine AU in season 2/3. Cause everyone has to have one, right?_

_**A/N -** I promise I'm working on all of my stories! But homework comes first, and life as a science major in college is not very forgiving. Enjoy this part and thanks for reading, you guys are awesome! Let me know what you think and feel free to talk to me on tumblr anytime!  
_

* * *

"Dad, dinner's gonna be ready in like half an hour, go shower," Kurt called when he heard the front door opening.

After Burt's muffled "Got it, kiddo," he went back to texting Blaine, making plans to hang out that night. Blaine was surprisingly easy to text. He always seemed to get Kurt's snark and sarcasm without getting offended like Mercedes used to or confused like Puck always did. And he texted back and texted _first_, like he actually wanted to talk to Kurt. It's been a weird week.

When Burt came into the kitchen, freshly cleaned and…actually dressed fairly nicely, Kurt was still sitting at the table, waiting for the lasagna to finish in the oven. Kurt eyed his dad suspiciously, but shrugged it off. "Oh and I gotta leave right after dinner. I got plans." Kurt tried for nonchalance. He was out most nights anyway; this should so not be so weird just because he wasn't planning on getting smashed at Puck's for once.

Burt raised an eyebrow. "Do these plans involve that girl with pink hair or the mohawk kid?" He said, eyes narrowed.

"_No_." Fuck, he was blushing. Kurt ducked his head, but he saw his dad's amused expression. "Oh Christ, not you too."

"Who is this kid?" Burt said, crossing his arms. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Just _some kid_, oh my _god_. His name's Blaine." Kurt muttered begrudgingly. He was well and truly fucked now; Burt would never let him go without details. He should have just lied and said he was going out with Quinn. "Look, Dad, Blaine's new and needed a friend, okay?" Not exactly the truth, but close enough. "It's a Friday night and he's alone and that fucking sucks." Kurt added desperately. Okay, that was _definitely_ the truth. Kurt knew all too well how it felt when all of his friends had plans and not one included him. It just _really _sucked.

Burt nodded. "He gay too?"

"_Not that it matters,_ but yes," Kurt growled back.

"Okay, okay. Sheesh, just askin'." Burt chuckled at Kurt's reaction. Then started shifting on his feet. "I, um. Carole's coming over tonight," Burt said weakly and almost resigned, as if preparing himself for the inevitable.

Kurt froze. "After dinner?" He heard himself ask. It had to be after dinner because his father _would not_…

Friday Night Dinners (and yeah, it was definitely capitalized) were a tradition his mom started to force the Hummels to eat together at least once a week. Burt kept up with it even after she died, and it was sacred to them. It was for Kurt and Burt; it was _theirs; _it was one of the few things that were keeping them together and Burt wouldn't taint it by asking _his girlfriend_ to come, would he?

But Burt shook his head and Kurt's stomach dropped. "No. For dinner. And Finn's coming." Burt winced. "I know this is pretty last minute and I sort of sprung it on you—"

"_Sort of?!"_ Kurt repeats incredulously, pushing away from the table and standing up abruptly. "What the _fuck_, Dad! I don't want him anywhere near me, _not _after last year! How could you do this to me?!" Kurt's chest seized up and it was hard to breathe. "_How could you_ invite them to _our dinner?!"_ Betrayed didn't even begin to cover Kurt's emotions. "Friday nights are for _us_," Kurt whispered. "For Mom." His fists were clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms. The tiny pricks of pain felt good.

"Kiddo…" Burt said desperately, but the oven timer interrupted him. The shrill beeping continued for a few seconds while Kurt glared at his father, still vibrating with rage. How _could_ he? How could he just—_stomp_—all over his mother like that? Like she didn't mean anything anymore?

Finally, Kurt whipped around and grabbed the oven mitts, getting the lasagna out and slamming it on the table with a bang. The doorbell rang and Burt shot a warning look to his son.

"I know you're not happy about this and we're gonna talk later," Burt said firmly. "But you are gonna be civil to Carole tonight, got it? She's been nothing but sweet to you and she doesn't deserve any of your…hostility tonight. And try not to kill Finn." He still looked apprehensive and Kurt grinned as sarcastically and viciously as possible. This whole situation was complete bullshit. Burt sighed, but left the room to answer the door. After a few minutes, he came back, trailed by Carole, who carried a Tupperware container with cookies, and Finn, who just stood there awkwardly.

A new wife and normal son. Who liked football and video games and girls. Who didn't have so much fucking baggage.

Kurt hated them.

"Well, Dad, now that your _real_ family is here, I'm out." Kurt snarled. He stormed past them and grabbed his jacket from the hooks on the hallway wall, ignoring the terrified expressions on the Hudson's faces. Fuck. Them.

"_Kurt!_ Knock it off and come back here! You made a great dinner and we're all gonna enjoy it _together_. As a family." Burt looked frustrated as hell when Kurt glared back, halfway in his jacket. Behind him, Finn mouthed to Carole _Kurt cooked? _and Kurt felt himself snapping.

"THEY AREN'T MY FAMILY!" Kurt roared, making Finn and Carole jump. "And yes, Finn! I cooked!" Kurt stalked towards Finn and jammed a finger in the giant's chest. Finn leaned away from the touch, eyes wide and terrified. Kurt noticed. "What, Finn? Scared you're gonna catch the gay? Better not eat my food! Hell, better not fucking _breathe_ in here! Isn't that what your dickhead teammates warned you about?" Kurt laughed, loud and bitter and everyone just stared at him but fuck them all. "Well no fear, Finn, I'm not staying. I won't stay somewhere where I'm so easily _replaced_," Kurt shot as his father, who sighed. "Enjoy your new dad, asshole," Kurt spat at Finn, and turned on his heel.

"Kurt, your father would never…"

Carole's hesitant voice stopped him and Kurt rounded on her. "Would never what?" He seethed. "Would never break a tradition, a tradition that's been going on for _sixteen fucking years_, even after his _wife_ died, for _you_?" Kurt was practically screaming in her face and she looked close to tears when Burt grabbed Kurt's arm and pulled him back.

"You're out of control, Kurt."

"Fuck you too!" Kurt yelled, ripping his arm away and running to the door. He couldn't be in this fucking house for another fucking second, he couldn't. His eyes burned and his throat closed up but he _would not cry_, not here.

"Kurt Hummel—"

"DON'T TALK TO ME!" Kurt yelled. And slammed the door on his way out because why the fuck not.

He was halfway down the block before he gave in and cried.

* * *

Kurt wound up at Blaine's. Of course.

He resolutely did _not_ think about how pathetic he looked standing alone on the Andersons' front porch, considering how fucking huge the place was. It didn't do anything to help how _small_ Kurt felt.

Kurt was also ignoring the way his phone was constantly vibrating in his pocket. It was probably his dad but Kurt was still too pissed about being shoved aside for Carole and Finn. In a fit of anger he pounded on the door, bypassing the enormous lion-shaped brass knocker. The door felt heavy and solid and muffled his knocks. Kurt curled up his lip and a silent snarl and banged on the door again, his hand stinging from the force.

There was a flurry of footsteps behind the door and Kurt stepped back. He jammed his hands in his pockets and tried to act completely normal. Like everything was peachy. It wasn't.

Kurt quickly swiped at his eyes, hoping they didn't look too red, and then the door opened. Blaine stared at him and Kurt stared back, because _hel-lo_. Instead of wearing a pound of hair gel, Blaine's hair was curly and looked so soft that Kurt's hands itched to touch. And he was in grey sweatpants (_Dalton_? Was that a school?) and a faded T-shirt with the _Wicked_ logo. Still had those hipster glasses, though.

"Hey," Kurt croaked. He cleared his throat. "Um. I'm early."

"Yeah I got that," Blaine said faintly. Fuck, Kurt could see him noticing all the little signs that gave away how upset Kurt was. From his messed up hair to his red-tinged eyes to his raspy voice. Thankfully, Blaine kept his expression neutral and stepped aside. "Come in, my parents are in the living room but we can go up to my room if you want?" Blaine added, correctly interpreting Kurt's pleading expression. The very last thing he wanted to deal with was parents.

Kurt nodded and stepped inside, instantly feeling out of place. The house screamed high class and sophistication with the paintings and tapestries and statues and thick rugs and chandeliers and then there was Kurt, who had pink hair ripped jeans and piercings and tattoos and smelled faintly like cigarettes and leather. He didn't belong here, but he couldn't go home now, so Kurt hugged himself and stood awkwardly in the Andersons' entryway while Blaine shut the door.

Silently freaking out, Kurt thought about his options. It wasn't fair to Blaine to show up like this, but he literally had nowhere to go. Quinn's house would be almost as bad; her parents were filthy rich, and her hard-core Catholic father always shot Kurt these angry, disgusted looks that scared Kurt a little. Puck's house was a nightmare mix of an angry and stressed single mother and bratty little sister as well as the possibility of Finn. So Blaine was all he had. When a hand touched his shoulder, Kurt jumped.

"Sorry!" Blaine yanked his hand back. "I was just…stairs are over here." Blaine pointed behind himself, smiling sheepishly. "You can follow me; it's kind of easy to get turned around in here." He waited for Kurt to nod and then led the way to his room. Kurt followed silently, chest suddenly tight again. Fuck. He wasn't a baby, he could hold himself together.

Blaine stopped in front of a door a few rooms down from the staircase. "Um," Blaine glanced at Kurt and turned slightly red. "Look, I used to board at my old school and we'd only moved here a couple months before that so I haven't had the chance to clean up…"

"I've cohabited with Finn for a week last year," Kurt interjected dully. "You're probably neater than he was." Blaine raised his eyebrows but didn't ask, something Kurt was grateful for. Shrugging, Blaine pushed his door open.

The room was pretty empty, with only a desk, a wooden dresser, and a full-sized bed making up the furniture. There were a couple of half-unpacked cardboard boxes scattered around the room, with posters and books and other crap inside and in piles on the floor. Kurt noted it all absently, but made a beeline for the bed and sat down on the edge. His arms didn't move from their place wrapped around himself. Blaine shut the door behind him and took the desk chair, dragging it in from of Kurt and straddling it backwards. He rested his chin and folded arms on the back of the chair, frowning at Kurt.

"What?" Kurt glared back, shifting defensively. He should leave. He _should_. If he could get his legs to move.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Blaine asked simply.

Kurt stomach lurched. "_No._" Avoiding Blaine's eyes, Kurt ran his fingers over the expensive comforter. It was really fucking comfortable. His pocket buzzed again and Kurt swore under his breath, yanking his phone out. He declined the call from his dad and switched the phone off; tossing the damn thing on Blaine's bed so he didn't have to look at it.

Fuck, he felt like shit.

"You were supposed to come over after dinner," Blaine said gently, thankfully not mentioning the phone incident. Kurt shrugged noncommittally. "I kind of got the feeling it was an important thing to you?" Blaine cocked his head to the side and tried to meet Kurt's eyes.

Kurt stared at the wall stubbornly. "It used to be," he muttered. The lump in his throat got bigger and Kurt shut up. Didn't she still matter to his dad? Didn't _he_? Kurt wiped his stupid eyes angrily and sniffed. Fucking hell, this was embarrassing. He did _not_ break down like this in front of complete strangers. When he finally looked back at Blaine, Blaine snapped his eyes back up to Kurt's from where they were staring at his lips and blushed.

Kurt stiffened. He should have known. So _that's _why Blaine was talking to him. Well, why the fuck not, right? Might as well earn that damn reputation.

"C'mere, Blaine." Kurt beckoned. Blaine's eyes widened and then narrowed distrustfully. "I don't bite, Anderson," Kurt rolled his eyes and Blaine got up and cautiously sat down on his bed next to Kurt. He was still a good few inches away and was saying something stupid and irrelevant. Kurt ignored him and studied Blaine.

He was handsome; maybe a little short but _compact_ and fit and he had a strong jaw line with the slightest amount of stubble and pretty eyes. Plus, hair that just ached for fingers to run through and tug. Kurt could do worse. At least Blaine actually cared about him.

Didn't he?

A picture of Burt, arms around Carole and clapping Finn on the back and looking so incredibly happy, flashed across Kurt's vision. That convinced him. In any case, Blaine probably wanted him; even it was just for a night.

Kurt jerked himself back to attention, finding Blaine carefully shaking his shoulder. His hand was warm and felt like fire. Something twisted in Kurt's stomach and he reached out and grabbed Blaine's shirt, dragging him close.

"This is what you want, right?" Kurt whispered, feeling Blaine's breath hitch and his scent (_sandalwood and orange?)_ envelope him. He let one of his hands drift up and stroke Blaine's cheek and he was totally right about the stubble, oh god. Blaine still hadn't moved, though his breathing turned ragged. "Bet you didn't think it would be this easy, did you," Kurt continued, almost convinced he hid the bitterness in his voice.

The last sentence got a reaction. "Kurt?" Blaine started, but Kurt swallowed the rest of his words with a fierce kiss, crashing their lips together.

It felt like fireworks; Kurt realized hysterically, gripping Blaine's curls and dragging him closer and drowning in the feeling. Blaine's hands grabbed his arms and squeezed, but he _returned the kiss_ oh god and it was hot and dry and _so much_ that Kurt nearly forgot to breathe.

_This is what a kiss should be like_, Kurt thought sadly, before taking the plunge and biting lightly at Blaine's bottom lip, licking into Blaine's mouth when he parted them. Blaine accepted Kurt with a groan. His hands slid up Kurt's arms and his fingers wound through Kurt's hair, tugging hotly and desperately when Kurt couldn't hold back a gasp at the feeling.

It was amazing and fantastic, and Kurt leaned in to push Blaine onto the covers because his dick was _throbbing_ by now and Blaine kept letting these whimpers and moans out and Kurt couldn't even think beyond _hotwantneed. _So it was a bit of a surprise when Blaine suddenly shoved him back and Kurt fell off the bed with a heavy thump.

"HOLY FUCK, ANDERSON!" Kurt howled, clutching his jammed elbow to his chest and curling over in agony. "Shit!"

Blaine was at his side in a second, hands hovering over Kurt uselessly. "Oh god, Kurt, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Oh my god…"

The sight of a frantic Blaine, cheeks still flushed, hair mussed, and lips bitten red nearly made Kurt laugh except _his arm still hurt like a bitch_. Instead, Kurt grabbed Blaine with his good arm and dragged him closer. Then punched the moron's bicep because _fuck_, who the hell had wooden floors in their bedroom?!

"Okay, I probably deserved that," Blaine conceded, wincing at Kurt's glare. "Um. I should. Get you ice?" He looked so miserable and guilty that Kurt couldn't even look at him, so he just nodded and clutched his injured arm closer with a quiet "ow..."

Blaine bit his lip but practically bolted out of the room, leaving Kurt alone. The pulsing pain seemed to fade and Kurt pushed himself to lean against Blaine's bed. Except moving jarred his elbow and Kurt honest to god _whimpered._ Thank god Puck wasn't there or Kurt would never hear the end of it. This was like the least sexy sextytimes injury ever. They were just _kissing_.

Blushing hard, Kurt dragged his knees up and let his head fall, still holding his arm. Fuck. Everything. On top of nearly getting paralyzed by Blaine's damn floor, Blaine obviously didn't want him either and Kurt had clearly read the signs wrong and just _shit_. Tears began to pick at his eyes and Kurt sniffed angrily. At least he could blame these on the mind-numbing pain coursing through his elbow. This was so fucking embarrassing. He punched the floor. Didn't help.

Of course, Blaine took that moment to walk back into the room carrying an ice pack and a towel and looking ashamed. He held out the ice pack after wrapping it on the towel and Kurt grabbed it wordlessly and rested his elbow on it. The muted cold felt nice on the sore bone. Blaine stood awkwardly next to Kurt before dropping the floor and sitting cross-legged in front of him. They still didn't talk and honestly, the silence was starting to freak Kurt out.

"I'm sorry," Kurt finally muttered after the guilt got too much to bear. "I just thought. I don't know. I thought that was something you wanted." Christ, he just felt so _stupid_. A thought occurred to Kurt and his blood ran cold. "That wasn't your first kiss, was it?" He asked, dread trickling into his voice.

Blaine looked at him. "No," he said finally, looking surprised at the way Kurt's shoulders instantly relaxed. "And you were right. I did want that. To Kiss. You." Blaine stuttered over his words and blushed so hard that Kurt couldn't resist a snort. His elbow was finally starting to go numb, thank god.

"But…" Kurt prompted, studying the floor. At Blaine's hesitation, Kurt scoffed. "Are you scared of me? Heard all the rumors floating around school about how I fuck and dump guys I pick up at the gay bar and sketchy gas station across town?" Kurt snapped out every untrue lie the rest of McKinley saw fit to spread after he came out last year. "Bet you heard all about how I'm a slutty ass skank," he muttered, squeezing his arm tighter to his body like it was a shield. No one actually cared enough to learn the truth. Not even Quinn or Puck knew.

"Kurt…" Blaine shifted closer, like he was thinking about touching Kurt but Kurt shied away. The movement sent a shock of pain up his arm and Kurt groaned softly. "_No_. I just…panicked. It was all me, I swear. I wanted to kiss you, just…not like that." Blaine smiled weakly but it faded. "Why did you ask me if that was my first kiss?" The question was hesitant, but the very last thing Kurt needed was anyone going _there_ in his life.

"You weren't bad. Thought you had to have some experience," Kurt rolled his eyes. The words sounded like a lie and even Blaine seemed unconvinced. Kurt threw the ice pack at Blaine's chest. "I'm gonna go," he said, already thinking about where he would crash for a couple hours before he could sneak back home without his dad seeing. Blaine stared at him as Kurt stood and hunted for his phone among the pillows on the bed. His arm was still sore, but Kurt's had worse.

Standing up, Blaine tossed the ice pack on the bed and snatched Kurt's phone from the sheets. When Kurt tried to grab it back, Blaine dodged him. "Blaine!" Kurt growled, reaching for his phone again only for Blaine to move it away. "Give me my phone!"

Blaine hit the power button but stayed a few feet away from an irate Kurt. "No," he said calmly, and Kurt rethought his stance on punching Blaine's stupid face in. "I'm not letting you leave. You're upset and injured."

"I injured my elbow when you _threw me_, you asshole!" Kurt snapped. "Give me my phone!" When Blaine just shook his head and started trying to guess his pass code, Kurt actually growled in frustration.

"I'll consider it if you ask politely," Blaine said mildly, frowning when he was denied access to Kurt's cell.

Kurt smiled tightly. "Give me my fucking phone and I won't stuff my fist down your throat."

"Gosh Kurt, you're so violent." Blaine frowned at him and then held the phone at an angle, squinting.

Kurt was utterly lost. "The fuck are you doing, Anderson?" He stared as Blaine tried a couple more codes and then _fuck_, the damn thing unlocked. He lunged forward, but Blaine was expected him and easily held Kurt back with one of his arms.

"You have, like, twelve missed calls," Blaine said, holding the phone in Kurt's face. "And a ton of texts."

"Who gives a fuck?!"

"They're all from your Dad. And Finn?" Confused, Blaine looked over at Kurt. "Why's Finn texting you?"

Kurt dropped his head in his hands and tugged on his hair in frustration. "IT'S NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS, BLAINE!" He yelled, startling Blaine enough to let Kurt grab the damn phone. Glancing down at the screen, he saw Blaine was right. He had a ton of missed calls, voicemails, and texts from his house, he dad's cell, and two unknown numbers. Plus a couple texts from Quinn and Puck asking things along the line of "where the fuck are you" and "why is your dad screaming at me." Guilt bubbled up at all the voicemails his dad left, knowing Burt was probably out of his mind with worry.

Though he was a badass, Kurt rarely sneaked out of the house and he never argued with his father like he did earlier. Never. Kurt jammed his phone in his pocket and made to storm out of Blaine's house and go…somewhere. Maybe the park. He can freeze his ass off like he so clearly deserves.

But fucking Blaine Anderson grabbed his arm and stopped him. Kurt shot him a death glare and Blaine visibly gulped, but he kept his hand on Kurt's arm and Kurt tensed.

"If you want to talk or—or something," Blaine stuttered under Kurt's scarily calm gaze, "I'm here for you. I'll listen."

Kurt snorted. "Like I haven't heard that one before. See you at school, Anderson." He walked out for good after that.

Sure enough, Kurt froze his ass off at the park for the next couple hours, chain-smoking and hating himself the whole time. Neither Burt nor Blaine would approve. And _fuck_, why did he care so much about Anderson's approval? With a scowl, Kurt dropped his last cig half-smoked and grinded it out with his heel.

* * *

Ever since he was little, Kurt had had a problem with holding grudges. Namely, he had the ability to ignore the fuck out of people and generally treat them like they don't exist until he calmed down. Which could take a while.

Kurt still wasn't speaking to his dad or Blaine by the time school started on Monday. And he was perfectly fine with that. Judging by his father's glares and Anderson's increasingly worried and dejected texts, they weren't. Sucks for them.

"Anderson looks like someone personally ran over his puppy," Quinn commented from her perch next to Kurt's locker. "The fuck did you do to him?"

_Kissed him_. Kurt shook his head. "Gave him a dose of reality," he said aloud, but he purposefully did _not_ look to see if Quinn was exaggerating Blaine's depression.

Quinn shot him an unbelieving look. "Anyway, Berry's talking to him. Aaaaand there's her 'I-told-you-so' face. Seriously, Hummel? Already?" She kicked his ankle, glaring when Kurt yelped. "I thought he'd hold out for longer, what with him being a preppy." She actually looked _angry_ at him, what the hell?!

"I didn't sleep with him!" Kurt hissed, rubbing his ankle. "Shit, Quinn, keep those boots of steel away from me!"

She glared, but changed the subject. "You talk to your dad yet? He sounded freaked when he called me."

"No." Kurt slouched against the lockers. He hadn't told Quinn why he left his dad's that night and to her credit, she hadn't asked. She did look at him suspiciously when Kurt admitted he'd gone to Blaine's for a little while. Quinn seemed ready to try to get some information out of him when Finn walked by with Puck. They stopped and Kurt silently _dared_ that asshole to say something.

"Hey, Kurt," Finn said awkwardly. Kurt ignored him and Puck snickered.

Down the hall, Blaine had stopped talking to Rachel and was watching with a worried expression. Ugh. Kurt dragged his eyes to Finn's feet, idly wondering if it would be worth the punishment to punch the star quarterback in front of half the school. Probably not.

"Um, listen about Friday…" Finn began hesitantly and Kurt had enough already and pushed off from the wall. He walked away without a word, leaving an open-mouthed Finn and snickering Puck behind. Blaine's eyes followed him, Kurt could feel it. Quinn caught up to him.

"So you didn't punch Hudson," Quinn said, slightly out of breath.

"I'm maturing in my old age," Kurt snorted. And then got shoved into the lockers, crashing into Quinn in the process. In complete shock because no one had dared do that since last year, Kurt checked Quinn first and then rounded on his tormentors. Who were already slushie-ing Blaine and Rachel. Kurt recognized those hulking figures and letterman jackets, though.

"Were you _dropped on your head?!"_ Kurt yelled indignantly. His voice echoed down the hall and Karofsky and Azimio turned. Everyone else shut up pretty damn quickly to watch the showdown. Kurt's blood pounded through him in rage and he stormed down the hallway, taking satisfaction in the small amount of fear he caught in Karofsky's eyes. Last year apparently wasn't as forgotten as Karofsky would have liked. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! You have a problem with me, fine, but don't push girls, you dicks!" Kurt stopped in front of Azimio and Karofsky, completely uncaring of the fact that they had a couple hundred pounds on him.

Also, he's had the urge to beat the crap out of something for three days and Karofsky's face was always a perfect opportunity.

Blaine stared at him with an open mouth, red slushie dripping out of his hair and staining his white shirt and Rachel looked just as miserable. That's right; that happened too. Looking Blaine, so humiliated and scared, well. Kurt's always been protective of the people he (might) care about.

"And really, _slushies?_ What are you _five_?!" Kurt saw Karofsky's face darken, but to hell with it. "Lay off the Glee Club, they don't do shit to you!"

"You sticking up for that gay club, Hummel?" Azimio got up in his face. "You gonna join them again and sing show tunes like the little fairy you are?" He pushed Kurt back and Kurt took it. Three touches and he can beat the shit out of them for hurting Blaine. _Quinn_.

"What, jealous you're not getting a piece of this fine ass?" Kurt sneered, directing it at Karofsky. "How's that STD from Mack, hamhock?" Quinn groaned behind him and tugged on his arm, but Kurt shook her off. Shit was going down.

"Shut the fuck up, Hummel!" Karofsky growled. He shoved Azimio out of the way and lifted his fist to Kurt's face. Kurt didn't flinch, but he did see Blaine look around frantically and then whisper something to Rachel. Rachel took off, but Karofsky was starting to get skittish and nervous and Kurt refocused on him.

"Go ahead and hit me, that's all the excuse I need to kick your ass to China and back like last year!"

"Do NOT push me, Hummel!" Karofsky grabbed Kurt's jacket and pinned him against the lockers, filling his nose with the stench of grease and sweat. Kurt almost gagged. Quinn had gotten to Blaine and was wiping his face off with a tissue, but Blaine hadn't stopped watching Kurt. He looked scared.

The hallway was silent and Kurt saw a few students with their cell phones out and recording. Always ready to watch the gay kid get his ass kicked. They were in for a surprise, Kurt thought angrily.

"I'm going to say this once," Kurt said lowly, leaning in so that only Karofsky could hear. Karofsky glanced around at the staring students and shifted nervously. "Stay the hell away from Anderson. You and I both know what's really going on here, and I won't let you hurt him." Kurt's voice got hard and Karofsky's eyes widened. "Now you're going to walk away because you want to get out of the shit town just as much as I do, and Ohio State isn't looking to take some delinquent lineman from middle of nowhere, Ohio with a certain reputation for fighting. Walk. Away." Karofsky glared angrily, but took a slight step back. Kurt relaxed minutely; this might be over before it began. But then Azimio had to open his big mouth and ruin it.

"Yo, Karofsky, you ain't gonna beat the fag up? You goin' soft on me?" Azimio rolled his eyes in disgust. "Maybe you should join that gay club if you like gays so much!"

"Shut up! I don't!" Karofsky yelled. Kurt saw his eyes turn wild and panicked and sighed. He was definitely getting into a fight today if he couldn't get away now.

It was going to be difficult with this crowd, but maybe apathy would work. "This is useless. Bye, asshole." Kurt shoved Karofsky off of him, catching him in enough surprise that he let go without a fuss. Kurt turned his back (a mistake) and started walking toward Quinn and Blaine, catching sight of Puck in the back of the crowd. He put a hand up in greeting, but Puck's face changed into fear and then pain exploded in the back of his head.

Kurt pitched forward, barely keeping himself upright and Blaine yelling "_Kurt!" _sure as fuck didn't help the building headache. He turned and stared at Karofsky incredulously. "Are you a _complete_ asshole?!" Kurt shouted, suddenly pissed off beyond belief because _ow_ and _he had his back turned!_ "You wanna fight me, you're gonna do it like a man and not a fucking coward!" Kurt brought up his fists into a fighting stance, right arm protecting his jaw and left ready to punch. Red hot rage turned into calm, controlled fury. He had this. Karofsky was going to _die_.

And that's when Karofsky launched all two hundred and seventy pounds at Kurt with a yell.

* * *

"What the HELL were you thinking?!" Burt yelled as he paced in front of the couch Kurt was laying on. He was angrier than Kurt had seen him in a while, but Kurt was getting a little tired of being yelled at by everyone so he repositioned the ice pack over his left eye and let his father continue to rant. He could already feel the swelling from Karofsky's fist beginning.

"Answer me! What would possibly cause you to fight with that kid?! Do you not care about college? Do you plan on being a criminal for the rest of your life? You nearly put him in the _hospital_, Kurt, he actually has a concussion!"

"I have one too," Kurt muttered, but Burt ignored him in favor of more yelling about disrespect and violence and how upset Kurt's mother would be if she knew this was how Kurt turned out. That part hit hard. He moodily dragged the ice pack down to his ribs, where Karofsky managed to punch his sides a couple times before Kurt kicked out his feet and slammed him into the floor.

"Kurt, what is going on lately?" Burt's voice dropped into a pleading tone and Kurt stared at him, startled. "You've been getting into fights; smoking; cursing up a storm; and you're out at all hours and have more tattoos and piercings and you're so _angry_ all the time. This isn't _you_." Burt sat on the couch, shifting Kurt's legs a little. "What happened to you, Kurt?"

He's never been good at lying to his father. Kurt put the ice pack back over his face and looked at the ceiling with his good eye. "I'm fine," he mumbled.

Burt sighed and rubbed his face in exasperation.

"Kurt, I'm worried about you. You're a good kid under all that; I just don't know where you went." His shoulders hunched over and Kurt felt nauseous at seeing his father look so small and defeated, especially since it was his fault.

"I'm right here, Dad," Kurt said, hating how his voice cracked.

Burt rubbed Kurt's knee, like he used to when Kurt was a kid, but didn't answer. Thankfully, the doorbell rang, and Burt got up to answer. He rubbed at his suspiciously red eyes and gave Kurt a shaky smile. Then he left to get the door and Kurt sat there and felt like shit. It was a familiar feeling by now.

Given how awful and how much pain he was in, Kurt probably should have expected Blaine to walk in behind his father when Burt returned.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Kurt asked bluntly, wincing at Burt's glare.

"I wanted to thank you," Blaine said with a hesitant smile. His hair had been washed and was starting to curl from drying and he had a new shirt and cardigan on to replace the corn-syrup mess he'd worn earlier.

Burt looked at Kurt in puzzlement. "What's he talking about?"

Glancing between them in puzzlement, Blaine frowned. "He didn't tell you?" Blaine said, surprised. Kurt groaned and pressed the ice pack to his throbbing eye even harder. Blaine continued, albeit nervously. "Kurt beat that jock up because he pushed Quinn and threw slushies at me and Rachel. He even gave them a chance to walk away and he only started fighting because Karofsky punched him in the head when his back was turned."

"Concussion," Kurt interrupted, pointing at his head. Burt glanced at him guiltily.

"He didn't say anything to the principal?" Blaine looked even more upset and worried and Kurt groaned again. Loudly.

"It didn't work the first hundred times; why would I bother now?" He complained. "Everyone at that damn school thinks I'm a bad influence and it was the word of the gay burnout against a popular football jock. Anything I say means jack shit."

"Language," Burt said, resigned. Kurt waved him off. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" He looks at Kurt helplessly. "I could've helped you in there, Kurt."

Kurt shrugged uncomfortably. "You never asked for my side," Kurt met his gaze evenly, feeling a little sick at the way his father's face fell.

"I'm gonna call your principal." Burt sighed. "And—and later—" Burt fixed Kurt with a firm glare. "We're gonna talk about your behavior. It's getting unacceptable." He walked out before Kurt could protest.

Kurt sank against the cushions, scowling. Like that would do anything. Kurt Hummel changed for no one. He ignored Blaine walking closer and sitting on the edge of the couch.

"You're still here?" Kurt finally said after a few minutes of silence. He picked at the cushions.

"I never actually thanked you." Blaine smiled carefully.

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, you did."

"No, I told you I wanted to thank you." Blaine shook his head. "But I didn't actually do it." Under Kurt's suspicious gaze, Blaine laughed. "Kurt, thank you for standing up for me today." He grinned at Kurt's confusion.

"I didn't do anything anyone else with a brain would have," Kurt mumbled, completely not blushing.

Blaine shook his head. "But no one else did anything. No one did anything the first couple times either—"

"You've been slushied before?" Kurt sat up growled, suddenly feeling the urge to punch something.

Picking up the ice pack that fell when Kurt moved, Blaine snorted. "I'm gay, in Glee Club, and scream 'nerdy private school kid.' Of course I've been slushied before." He frowned. "Your eye looks horrible, are you alright?"

Kurt grabbed the ice pack and gingerly touched it to his face, wincing at the sharp pain that flared up. "I'm fine," he said. "Looks kind of sexy right?" Blaine snickered at Kurt's seductive tone. Kurt held his breath for second, weighing his next words. He didn't want to look like he cared that much, but someone was bullying Blaine in school and Kurt hadn't even noticed. Just like everyone else, he was too caught up in himself to see it. "I didn't know. About the slushies." He said quietly and slouched against the cushions.

"Well, as you're so fond of saying," Blaine said with a teasing lilt to his voice. "It wasn't your business."

Kurt snorted again, a smile reluctantly crossing his face. "Needs a few curses to really get the essence of me, don't you think?" Kurt said, eyeing Blaine's response carefully. But Blaine actually laughed.

"Of course, how could I forget?" Blaine patted Kurt's outstretched leg absently, like it was something he did all the time. Kurt sucked it a quick breath at the friendliness and intimacy at the gesture. No one touched him. Unless they were Puck or his father or they were some stranger trying to get him off. But this was…nice.

Anderson was ruining him.

"Anyway, I know you're still pissed about Friday," Blaine sighed and stood up, looking almost regretful. "So I'll clear out. Thanks, Kurt. I mean it; it was…it was really good. What you did for me. Less violence would have been nice, but I'm glad you didn't get hurt."

Kurt raised an eyebrow and glanced down at himself. Blaine winced.

"Well, not hurt too badly. Anyway, I'll see you when you get off your suspension." Blaine waved at Kurt awkwardly and turned to leave.

_Now or never, dumbass_.

"Wait," Kurt said aloud, throat catching when Blaine actually turned around. "Um." _Eloquent, Hummel_. Blaine looked at him expectantly and Kurt swallowed hard and shifted himself so there was some room on the couch. "You could. Stay."

A slow grin broke over Blaine's face and he took a few steps forward. "You sure, Kurt?" he asked, like he wasn't certain Kurt actually meant it and thought that he would kick Blaine out in a second.

Kurt growled and threw a pillow at Blaine, wincing at the tug on his ribs. "Shut up, Anderson and watch shitty reality TV with me until we can convince Dad to order take-out when he realizes I can't cook tonight."

Blaine caught the pillow easily and grinned, sitting in the space cleared by Kurt's legs. "You cook?" he said, clearly surprised.

"Yes," Kurt grumbled. "And if you tell anyone at school, I'll—"

"Kick my ass, I know," Blaine laughed.

Kurt grunted the affirmative, grabbing for the remote. He probably should be a little more concerned about the fact that Blaine evidently did not find him very intimidating, but a larger part of him really just didn't care. Blaine was kind of ok.

The TV turned on to a rerun of Project Runway, and Kurt left it on at Blaine's excited shout. Heidi Klum and bitchy designers were totally worth Blaine's company.

Shit, he was so whipped.


	4. Chapter 4

**Relationship: **Klaine  
**Rating: **R  
**Warnings: **lot of swearing, some mild sexual harrassment  
**Summary: **Skank!Kurt, Nerd!Blaine AU in season 2/3. Cause everyone has to have one, right?

**_A/N-_**_ So this was already on tumblr, but I am working on the fifth installment as well as Tips of Roses so I figured I should give you guys something for sticking around this long! In case anyone has notice, Karofsky is not a very nice person for at least the next few parts, but it remains to be seen what I'm going to do with him. Thanks as always for reading, reviewing, and favoriting this story, I'm glad you decided to take a chance on me! Until next time, enjoy!_

* * *

"No."

Burt rubbed his face in exasperation. "Kurt, this is a good compromise," he said patiently. Next to him, Mr. Schuester, aka the Glee Club director from Hell nodded and Kurt glared at him. Just because Rachel chose to get him to stop the fight yesterday didn't mean that asshole got to pretend he cared about Kurt now. It wasn't like he hadn't had the chance last year when he was all up in Finn and Rachel's drama. No time for the gay kid, after all, Schue had competitions to lose.

"This isn't a compromise, this is torture. I'll take the damn suspension." Kurt snapped. Sitting the in the principal's office between his father, Schuester, and Principal Figgins was starting to make Kurt a little claustrophobic. They all kept _staring_ at him with that goddamn pitying look. Kurt slouched back in his chair and tugged his beanie down lower over his eyes so he didn't have to see them.

"Kurt, you used to love to sing!" Mr. Schue said patiently, patting Kurt's shoulder. Kurt jerked away at the touch, half in pain from the healing bruises and half in surprise and Mr. Schue faltered for a second. "We think joining the Glee Club will be good for you," he said, smiling when Principal Figgins nodded with a huge grin.

"Mr. Schuester explained that he needed more members in the Glee Club for competitions and you will not have to be what the children call a 'bad ass' anymore! Look at Mr. Puckerman; he hasn't thrown anyone in the dumpster since the beginning of the year! This is win-win for everyone!" Principal Figgins exclaimed as Kurt stared at him. This school was insane.

Trying to be reformed every other minute was getting old. "I'm _fine_." Kurt rolled his eyes, even as the bruised one ached. "Like I've been telling you assholes for months, I am perfectly alright with who and what I am. You're the ones with the problem with me."

"Kurt!" his father glared warningly.

Shaking his head, Kurt stood up with a sigh. "I quit Glee last year for a reason. I'm not going back. I'll take the two-week suspension and you can put it on my record. I. Don't. Fucking. Care." Meeting their disappointed eyes, Kurt looked back evenly.

"Mr. Hummel—" Principal Figgins started, but Kurt turned on his heel and walked out before he could finish.

He nearly ran into Blaine in the office lobby and groaned at the sight of the gelled-up hobbit.

"You have got to tone down your stalker tendencies," Kurt muttered, pushing past Blaine into the hallway. He wasn't surprised when Blaine followed him anyway.

"So I take it that you didn't like my idea, huh?" Blaine supplied. "Your eye looks painful, have you been putting stuff on it?"

Kurt stopped walking and glared at Blaine. "I should have known it was you," Kurt grumbled, walking again and ignoring Blaine's second question. Their footstep echoed in the empty hallway. "Should've known Schue didn't care that much about me," he added quietly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Blaine's face drop and Kurt tugged his hat around his ears in embarrassment. God, he needed a new filter. Kurt shook himself out of his weird guilt and jammed his hands deep in his jacket pockets, thinking.

Singing again would be kind of awesome. And after the two beat-downs he gave to Karofsky, no one would dare give him shit for being in a show choir anymore. He was a fucking amazing singer and taking down Rachel might be fun.

_And you'd have an excuse to see Blaine_, his mind supplied unhelpfully.

"Could you maybe think about it?" Blaine asked, eyes wide and pleading. "You can spend the whole time making fun of Rachel and Finn. I know you enjoy that."

Kurt's stomach dropped at Finn's name. Putting them together in the same room might be dangerous for all those involved with Kurt's temper and Finn's unintentional cruelness. He tugged at one of the studs in his ears as Blaine watched expectantly. Shit.

"Maybe," Kurt finally sighed. Blaine's smile grew broad and Kurt snorted, but stalked out to his car to wait for Burt, leaving the hobbit to run to class. His phone buzzed when Kurt collapsed against the seat, a headache threatening. God _damn_ but Karofsky's fists were hard as rocks. If there was any justice in the world, that asshole was hurting as badly as Kurt still was. He blearily pulled out his phone, frowning at Blaine's name and the texts that kept coming; didn't that kid have class?

He opened the messaging app.

**From: Blaine =]  
**_I told your dad for you._

**From: Blaine =]  
**_Idc if you're mad_

**From: Blaine =]  
**_Actually I do please don't be mad?_

**From: Blaine =]  
**_He seemed happy about it_

**From: Blaine =]  
**_Also I'm invited to dinner Friday but I'll skip if you want me too. Figgins says your suspension is over once you join Glee._

**From: Blaine =]  
**_Please join Glee you might get to see Santana actually kill Rachel do you really want to miss that? I don't think so :)_

Kurt closed his eyes briefly against the swirling emotions in his chest.

**From: Kurt  
**_I'll think about it._

* * *

Kurt lasted all of two days.

The first day, he discovered that at some point his dad had raided his room and threw out his alcohol stash, even the bottle of cake flavored vodka he was saving for Quinn's birthday in two weeks. He couldn't even get drunk, fuck. He spent the day drawing his tattoo and baking himself a cheesecake and then _not_ sharing it with Burt. Burt didn't seem nearly as annoyed as Kurt felt he should be when denied sweet, creamy, goodness.

He did give Blaine a slice when he came to drop off Kurt's homework, though. Never say that Kurt wasn't generous when he wanted to be.

The second day, his dad decided that Kurt might as well help out at the garage and woke him up at _ass o'clock in the morning_ to go to work with him. Kurt texted Blaine various messages along the lines of how much he hated mornings and how stupid customers were and of _course_ if the dealer told them to use the premium gas that they should use the fucking premium gas and _not_ bitch to Kurt when the normal gas fucked up their cars. He was fairly certain Blaine laughed at him. By the time Burt let him go home, Kurt was tired, sweaty, cranky, and covered in grease from pulling apart Mrs. Fenstein's engine.

So naturally, Quinn and Puck were waiting for him on the porch when Kurt drove up.

"Shouldn't you losers be in school?" Kurt muttered, slamming the car door a little harder than necessary. Quinn and Puck exchanged looks and Kurt glanced down to see their hands entwined. Oh Christ, not again. He sighed and shoved past them to get to his door. "Dad threw out the booze, you know," Kurt added over his shoulder.

Quinn pinched his side and slipped inside as soon as Kurt got the door open. "Bitch!" Kurt yelled after her, rubbing his ribs. _Fuck_, that was right over the beautiful bruise from Karofsky's shoe.

"Slut!" she called cheerfully back, already in his kitchen. Puck grinned at Kurt.

"Did you fuck her into a good mood or something?" Kurt scowled, shoving Puck in before shutting the door. He caught a whiff of himself and made a face.

"Or something," Puck said cheerfully. "You smell like a garage and look like shit." Puckerman was always so helpful.

Deciding not to dignify that with a response because he knew exactly what shade of purple his face was, Kurt stormed to his kitchen to see Quinn eating the last of his cheesecake. _Bitch_.

"Some days I actually hate you," Kurt said nonchalantly, getting a cup of water from the fridge and chugging it. Puck leaned against the counter with (his girlfriend?) Quinn; almost pressed up against her side. "So you guys are on again, I assume." Kurt gestured between them.

Blushing, Quinn tossed her hair and pointed her fork at Kurt while she swallowed. "Hobbit wants you to join Glee." She raised an eyebrow. "He worked out a deal with the devil to get your suspension lifted early."

"I'm aware," Kurt returned her look. Blaine hadn't stopped bugging him about it, actually. But Kurt just _couldn't_. Not yet. His muscles tensed and he knew Puck noticed.

"You haven't taken it yet." Quinn accused.

"Nope." Kurt dropped the glass in the sink and avoided their eyes. "I don't give in to peer pressure."

Puck spoke up. "Dude, you should come," he said, shrugging at Kurt's glare. "It's not nearly as bad as last year 'cause Blaine's started to actually talk about team shit instead of just letting Rachel hog everything and usually the black girl'll back him up. Plus, you get to piss off Finn _and_ Rachel at the same time. She still has nightmares about that solo thing last year." Puck wriggled his eyebrows in what Kurt supposed he thought were an enticing way. It was kind of comical, actually.

"You mean when I beat her at 'Defying Gravity' and then quit the day before Regionals? Good times," Kurt said sardonically. "I would just love to have her screaming at me every day." He crossed his arms and hoped he didn't come off too petulant. But Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Stop being such a baby and come to Glee with us," she snarled, stepping into Kurt's space like an angry pink-haired demon. "You want to and fuck the rest of the school; they don't dictate us."

Kurt eyed her carefully, noting the fire in her green eyes and the way her fists trembled. "You're joining too, huh?" Kurt said, resigned.

Quinn brushed her hair out of her face confidently. "Of course I am," she sniffed. "It's time to get back on top and winning Nationals as lead singer and head cheerleader is the first way to go." She smirked at Kurt's shell-shocked expression and spun on her heel, snapping her fingers. "Let's go, Noah."

Like a trained dog, Puck followed with a quick wink to Kurt.

Kurt rubbed his face, wincing when his fingers ran over the bruises.

_Christ._

When his dad came home a few hours later, Kurt had already holed up in his room with head phones and a sketchpad. Burt knocked against the door before opening it gently.

Kurt glanced up from where he'd been working on a woman's hair, trying to capture the way light fell on her soft curls through the window she sat before. He and his father stared at each other for a long moment and Kurt was again struck by how _tired_ his dad looked. Burt was young enough; only in his forties, but the lines around his eyes looked more pronounced than ever and his shoulders drooped heavily instead of standing tall and proud. And it was mostly Kurt's fault. He stiffened at the sudden thought.

"Mind if I come in?" Burt asked, and Kurt couldn't say no after everything he put his father through. Nodding mutely, Kurt tugged out his headphones but bent back over the drawing and began gently adding shadows to the woman's face. Burt sat next to Kurt, moving cautiously.

"Your mom was beautiful," Burt nodded towards the drawing. "You made her look…she looks good," he added gruffly. Kurt's pencil slowed, but he didn't look up.

Burt sighed again and rubbed his face tiredly. "Look kiddo," he said pleadingly, "I'm sorry."

That certainly got Kurt's attention.

"What?"

Burt shook his head. "You were right, that first night." he admitted. "I shoulda asked you what happened instead of assuming the worst. You're a good kid; a _smart _kid; you wouldn't've beaten up anyone who didn't give you a real reason. I didn't raise a bully." Burt frowned as Kurt ducked his head.

"It's fine," Kurt muttered. The words tasted too familiar.

"It's _not_." Burt growled, putting his hand on Kurt's shoulder and nudging his son to face him. "You deserve better than me to accuse you like that, and I'm sorry. I wasn't acting like a good father then."

Shit, Kurt was going to _cry_. "Really, Dad, it's fine. It's ok." Kurt said quickly, blinking back tears. "I'll just deal with this suspension and be back in school in two weeks and Karofsky won't bother Blaine or the Glee Club unless he wants to risk a football scholarship."

Burt got a knowing look in his eye. "I wanted to talk to you about the Glee Club, actually," he said.

Kurt paled. "No."

"Kurt—"

"Dad, _no_. I'm not going back there." Kurt glared at him with steely eyes. "I'm not."

The force of Kurt's refusal surprised Burt and he looked at his son with an unreadable expression. Cheeks flushing, Kurt dropped his sketch pad on the floor and flopped back on his bed. He tugged his hat over his eyes and settled in to ignore his dad.

Burt had other ideas and yanked the hat off, raising an eyebrow at Kurt's indignant shout.

"Explain yourself." Burt said sternly.

"There's nothing to explain!" Kurt yelled.

"Kurt!"

"Dad!" Kurt tried to get his breathing to slow down. He had to be calm; Burt could not suspect anything about the club or why Kurt really quit.

He needed to get Burt out of there.

Burt wasn't stupid, though. "Kiddo, what happened to you?" He said in a whisper.

Lying to his dad hurt. Kurt shrugged and hugged himself, thinking about the cigs in his jacket downstairs. If only.

"I want you to get out, you know," Burt said, changing the subject. Kurt stared at him. "You're meant for more than Lima, Kurt, and you're gonna make it." He clapped Kurt's shoulder.

"But?" Kurt looked at him tiredly.

Burt hesitated. "I think you should take the deal. Make the suspension go away. Get into a good college; move to New York or LA; and _be yourself._" He said it kindly, but it still felt like a slap.

Inside his chest, Kurt's lungs tightened. Being in that room, with those people; people who let everything happen to him and ignored the signs; Kurt seriously doubted he could stand it without freaking out.

But Blaine would be there.

"Please, kiddo. For me?"

Kurt nodded and pushed away the terror threatening to spill over. He was Kurt Fucking Hummel; a band of misfits would not intimidate him.

As he let his dad beam and hug him, Kurt really hoped he wasn't making another mistake.

* * *

By Thursday, Kurt was back in school.

Awesome.

His day went about as well as he could have hoped. Blaine nearly pissed himself in excitement when he saw Kurt at his locker and didn't shut up for the entire ten minutes they had before homeroom, but it at least saved Kurt from having to keep up a conversation. He managed to terrify a few underclassmen though, so Kurt felt mildly better by the time History rolled around and he was faced with Rachel Berry again.

His good mood didn't last long.

"Alright Hummel, listen up—"

"I didn't fuck him, relax," Kurt interrupted tiredly. He dragged out his book and began reading. Jesus, this entire school treated him like a _leper_; he could hang out with anyone he fucking wanted. He felt like he was in some stupid John Hughes movie and Blaine was the star geek looking for true love.

And Kurt was the bad boy that was the stepping stone on the way.

Fuck.

Rachel gasped in affront. "Okay, _rude_. I wasn't going to say anything about Blaine," she muttered grumpily. She began reading her own book in mutinous silence. Kurt felt her eyes glance his way every few seconds though and he groaned.

"Fine, _what_ were you going to say?" Kurt tried to put as much sarcasm as possible in his tone, and Blaine frowned at him from where he was working with Mike again. Whatever. Kurt grinned innocently at him.

"I don't care to tell you," Rachel said haughtily. Kurt raised an eyebrow but didn't ask, knowing it would drive her crazy.

Rachel was too predictable.

"Alright, fine!" she burst out and Kurt almost hid his smile. Almost. "I want your word that you won't quit on us again for no reason." She glared.

"I had a reason," Kurt said, dropping his eyes back to the chapter and ignoring the way his stomach tightened. She had no idea about last year. None.

"It almost made us _lose_, Kurt, I don't think you quite understand what it meant!" Rachel pressed, waving her hands empathetically. "We had to make a band member sway in the back! It was _mortifying_!"

Oh, for fuck's sake. "It was fucking high school show choir competition." Kurt snarled. "It doesn't mean shit in the real world; _get the hell over it."_ He started to seriously reconsider going to Glee after school. Standing behind Rachel while she belted out yet another emotional solo and made snide comments about Kurt bailing on them before would send him over the edge; regardless of Blaine.

"You don't mean that," Rachel said quietly, looking at him with something like sympathy. It made Kurt's stomach turn over. "You used to love singing; you were going to New York and be on Broadway, like me," She continued, studying Kurt like she could see his secrets through sheer willpower.

"I grew up." Kurt said with finality, warning her silently to _back off_. "You should too." He looked back to the chapter, and read about Columbus being an idiot.

Rachel kept staring at him, but didn't ask. When the class ended, she grabbed her books and ran to Blaine, yanking him out of the room before Kurt could pick up his satchel.

She was so strange.

* * *

Kurt wasn't quite prepared for the dead silence that greeted him the second he stepped through the choir room doors after school. Even Brad stopped rolling his eyes at Finn and Rachel to stare at him, and Kurt felt his walls slam up again. Jamming his hands deep in his pockets, Kurt glared back defensively.

He didn't belong here.

Eleven outcasts, kids the entire school had rejected at some point, and Kurt still didn't fit in. But he would be damned if he let them scare him.

And despite what they thought, Kurt remembered _all_ of them. He just wished he didn't.

Blaine grinned and waved for Kurt to sit near him next to the two Asians. He glanced at Quinn, but she was too busy sitting in Puck's lap and subtly glaring at Rachel to spare more than a second's look at him. Nervously, Kurt tugged on his beanie and sauntered over to Blaine. He hoped no one noticed his hands shaking.

"Yo," Kurt plopped himself in the chair Blaine waved at. The girl, Tina with her blue streaks, stared at him, but Mike smiled.

"Good to see you again, Kurt," he said, while his girlfriend's mouth remained open in shock.

Kurt nodded jerkily, feeling his carton of cigs in his pocket. The feeling of being trapped and judged and scrutinized was growing and he itched to just run out of the room, but he'd promised his dad he'd try to stay. But none of these people cared about him. He didn't trust any of them.

Maybe Blaine. Maybe.

Unconsciously, he pressed closer to Blaine, shoulders falling as some of the tension left his body. Blaine went back to talking about some superhero movie and Mike nodded along enthusiastically, but Tina wouldn't stop _staring_. Kurt growled at her and she squeaked and jerked back into Mike. Blaine elbowed him.

"Kurt," he said warningly. Kurt glared at him and leaned back in his chair, shoving his headphones in his ears to drown out Rachel and Santana's ever growing argument about solos. Shutting his eyes against the hard fluorescent lights, Kurt let himself drift.

He'd only been there for ten minutes and Kurt was already exhausted.

Blaine tugged on his sleeve and Kurt opened one eye at him. "I'm sorry, it's usually better than this," Blaine said, wincing.

Kurt tugged out the headphones and let his eyes flick over to where Santana had devolved into screaming at Rachel in Spanish. A black girl, Mercedes, Kurt remembered, held her back and Finn was trying to placate a red-faced Rachel while the wheel-chair kid and the blonde cheerleader watched.

"Really," Kurt drawled, and Blaine let out a half laugh.

"Okay, _no_, it's usually like this, I'd just thought they'd tone it down today," Blaine knocked their shoulders. "I don't know where Mr. Schue is; he's usually here by now."

Kurt closed his eyes again and tipped back his head. This was a bad idea, but Rachel's screeching was getting on his nerves.

"Rachel, shut up and let Santana sing for once or else I'm gonna break into your house and replace all your moisturizers with bronzer." Kurt snapped. Blaine stared at him in shock, but the rest of the club had various expressions of impressed and amusement with the exception of Finn, who shot Kurt a dirty look about as intimidating as a kitten.

When Tina began to slowclap, Mercedes cackled at Rachel's horrified expression. "Seriously, one performance out of the spotlight won't kill you," she snorted, releasing Santana. She winked at Kurt, who rolled his eyes. Artie wheeled past and held up a fist for Kurt to bump. Kurt glared at him. They weren't his friends. They never had been.

Quinn and Puck were still too wrapped up in each other to even notice. Assholes. Kurt promised himself he'd make them find their own damn ride home tonight.

"Thank God we have Hummel back to put you in your place," Santana said, though she still shot Kurt a glare. "But I don't need your help, Gay-face." She left Rachel gaping and sat next to Brittany, the blond cheerleader even Kurt knew she constantly hooked up with. Brittany began playing with Santana's hair.

Kurt rolled his eyes and slouched back in his chair. Why the fuck even bother?

"Kurt's a really good singer!" Blaine said enthusiastically. "You'll see!"

Santana looked confused. "We _know_that, Gene Kelly; he was one of us up until last year." Blaine whipped around to look at Kurt, but Kurt ignored him. Santana smirked at his confusion. "What, didn't come up during your pillow talk?"

"Shut the fuck up, Lopez," Kurt snarled. "Keep your demon tongue away from Blaine."

She shrugged. "Well if you aren't worshipping that, someone ought to. Hey Blaine, think you might be bi?" Kurt's hackles rose at her suggestive wink.

Blaine turned bright red and Kurt growled and almost leapt out of his seat to claw her. Luckily, Blaine gripped his arm and kept him in his seat.

"I'm really not interested, thank you," Blaine said in a strangled sort of voice.

"So rude," Rachel muttered, obviously annoyed that she was being ignored again. Finn rubbed her shoulder.

"Cause you totally want to bone Hummel, right?" Puck yelled, making Blaine duck his head in mortification. Quinn laughed mercilessly and Kurt changed his mind about driving them. They weren't getting rides for _two _weeks.

"Dude, gross," Finn put in, looking revolted and Kurt closed his eyes and prayed for strength.

Mr. Schue decided to suddenly show up right then, bursting into the room with a manic grin and crazy eyes. Next to him, Tina muttered "Oh no," and Kurt definitely remembered that anything that made Mr. Schue this happy was usually incredibly misguided and awful for the kids.

"Great news, guys!" their director began enthusiastically. "Kurt's back, Quinn's back, and we have another member for our club!"

A sense of foreboding hit Kurt and he frowned suspiciously. He glanced at Blaine, but his friend just shrugged. He didn't know what Schuester was talking about either.

"Now, I know this might be a bit of a surprise for you guys," Mr. Schue continued, "But I want each of you to remember that this club is about inclusion and acceptance, alright?" He looked so earnest that Kurt had to stifle a snort. This was the same crap he'd heard last year. It worked out so well, after all.

Mr. Schue opened the door and gestured for someone to come in. And Kurt's heart stopped.

"_Him?!"_ Kurt's jaw dropped at the sight of a meek Karofsky standing next to the choir director. His tormentor looked almost as bad as Kurt, with a huge yellowing bruise on his face and a bandaged hand from where he tried to block Kurt's kick. He flinched at Kurt's shout, but stood his ground. "What the _fuck_ is _he_ doing here?!" Kurt jumped to his feet, balling his hands into fists. He didn't look to see Quinn's or Puck's expression, but they instantly were at his side and glaring. For some reason, though, Kurt's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Karofsky couldn't be here.

This was _Kurt's_.

It was going to be _his_ safe place; that asshole had no right. None.

"I'mma agree with Lady Lips," Santana added, glowering at Karofsky. "This ass slushied me last week; now you expect me to hang out with him? Can he even sing?"

A few students nodded in agreement.

"Mr. Schue, why is Karofsky joining Glee?" Blaine asked calmly, though his face was pale.

Their teacher frowned at the hostility from his students. "_David_ was offered the same deal that Kurt was. Join Glee or be suspended for two weeks. It was only fair. He took the deal and is going to help us win Nationals this year."

Behind him, Karofsky nodded uncomfortably. His eyes kept darting from one person to the next, though they kept returning to Kurt. He looked up and down Kurt's body and Kurt's skin _crawled_.

How had no one ever noticed him?

"He slushied us!" Rachel shrieked. She stormed up to Mr. Schue and glared up at him. "And he tried to beat up Kurt when he stood up for us! And I won't share my group with a known homophobe! My two gay dads—"

"We need Dave, guys!" Mr. Schue pleaded. "He's promised to knock off the bullying and this is what Glee is all about! Coming together as a team for a common goal!"

"And you think Kurt and David are going to sort out their differences through song?" Quinn snorted. She glared at Karofsky with ice. "What is this, the after-school Disney Channel special? You've got some nerve asking Kurt to be in the same room as him. Karofsky doesn't deserve shit from us."

Mr. Schue started getting angry. "That was uncalled for, Quinn. David wants acceptance just as much as you do. We let you rejoin even after you plotted with Sue to shut us down, after all."

"That's different and you know it!"Puck howled, pulling Quinn closer. "He's a piece of shit!"

"Preach, brotha," Artie added with a glare towards Karofsky. "He locked me in a Port-A-Potty last week and tipped it. I ain't forgiving him yet."

Brittany leaned over to whisper to Santana, but she spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. "He smells like he'd eat gummy bear houses," Brittany said seriously. Kurt looked at her strangely.

"GUYS!" Mr. Schue shouted, face red. "I have never been so disappointed in all of you! You're going to accept David into this group and that is _final_!"

Anger flooded through Kurt's body, but he felt oddly calm. Kurt shook his head. "No." He said simply.

"'No'?" Mr. Schue echoed.

Kurt shrugged. "No." he repeated. "Fuck you. I came back here for my dad, not you. But I won't make myself stay near _him_." Kurt put as much venom as he could in his tone and Karofsky recoiled. "I won't. Good luck with Sectionals." Kurt slung his bag over his shoulder and marched towards the door. His heart sped up the closer he got to Karofsky, but he kept his expression angry.

Karofsky didn't move as Kurt brushed past him, but Mr. Schue grabbed his arm, tightening his fingers as Kurt tried to rip out of his grip. With a growl, Kurt stared stonily at the hallway. He wouldn't give Mr. Schue the satisfaction, no matter how much he wanted to punch him.

"If you walk out that door, you're suspended again," Mr. Schue warned. He pulled on Kurt's arm, trying to get him back to his seat. Kurt had other ideas.

He jerked his arm away and took a few steps back out of reach from his teacher. "I mean this in the nicest way possible," Kurt smiled ruefully. "But kindly fuck out of my business." With that, Kurt calmly strode out of the classroom.

But not before he flipped off the entire room.

* * *

By the time Kurt drove himself home, he was shaking so bad that it took him a few tries to get his keys in the door to unlock it. Fuck them. Fuck _all_ of them. Kurt dug out a cigarette and tossed his bag in the living room, not even caring where it landed. His dad wouldn't be home for a couple hours and the Hudsons weren't coming over for dinner. It was just Kurt. By himself.

He walked out to the patio, slamming the patio door behind him. The cool breeze went right through his leather jacket, but it didn't help the white-hot rage still boiling under his skin. He sat on the small step down to lawn and bit the cigarette as he took out the lighter, frowning at the taste of paper and nicotine. Fuck, he hated those things. But they calmed him down. Once his hands stopped trembling, Kurt brought the flame to the tip and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with smoke. He let the smoke out slowly and looked out at the yard. A couple of chairs, brick walkway, green grass. Typical suburban home. Kurt smiled at the memory of having tea parties with his parents out there years ago.

Then he remembered that his mother was dead, his dad was dating a woman with an asshole son, and Karofsky would not leave him the fuck alone.

David Karofsky.

When would he ever stop?

Kurt shivered in the dusk, remembering the way Karofsky looked at him. Summer hadn't faded that hungry gaze at all. Stomach churning, Kurt closed his eyes and breathed, in and out, in and out. He had to calm down.

In his pocket, Kurt's phone vibrated.

**From: Blaine =]  
**_Can I come over?_

Kurt frowned at his screen. Why the hell would Blaine want to see him after Kurt's charming display and eloquent dismissal of the club?

Did he even want to see Blaine?

Apparently, though, Blaine made that decision for him.

A light knocking made Kurt turn around to see Blaine in his house and standing at the glass patio doors. He waved hesitantly at Kurt. Shaking his head, Kurt held up a hand and turned around. He must have left the front door open, shit. The door squeaked as Blaine opened it, but all too soon Blaine was at his side and crossing his legs. They didn't talk as Kurt slowly smoked his cigarette down, breathing out behind them and occasionally tapping the ashes onto the steps in a neat pile. The sun began to set and the yard turned red and gold.

"I'm sorry," Blaine finally whispered, sounding small and dejected. Kurt glanced at him but didn't interrupt. Groaning, Blaine dropped his face in his hands and bent over his knees. "I'm such an idiot," he said, muffled.

Kurt sighed and leaned back, grinding out the cigarette against the brick and stretching out his legs. He wasn't _mad_ at Blaine per se, but this clusterfuck was sort of his fault.

"Yeah, you kind of are," Kurt agreed, grinning at Blaine's hurt glare. "I'm not mad at you," Kurt said seriously.

"You should be," Blaine moaned into his knees. "I didn't know they'd offer the same deal to him. I didn't think he'd _take _it."

"Me either," Kurt snorted. "But you get desperate when you want to escape this piece of shit town."

Blaine nodded in agreement. "I guess I could see that," he allowed, then he whipped his head up and gave Kurt a hard look. "You didn't tell me you were in Glee last year."He said it almost accusingly and Kurt raised a challenging eyebrow at his friend.

"You didn't ask." Kurt shrugged. "It doesn't matter anyway, I'm over those losers," he added, slightly bitter. Not one of them stood up for him. He hadn't exactly given any of them a reason to lately, but whatever. The point still stood.

Blaine let out a long sigh. "We didn't let him join," he told Kurt. "We voted against it. All of us. But Mr. Schue was pretty firm, and Dave looked pretty upset when no one talked to him the whole meeting. Puck kept talking about how _hypothetically_ he was going to, um, mess Dave up if he laid a hand on anyone there."

One of the things Kurt realized about Blaine very early on was that Blaine had a problem with needing to be loved by _everyone_. He couldn't handle people hating him, and it led to Blaine being nice to the assholes bullying him. Like the time Blaine had admitted to offering a handkerchief to Azimio when the football player spilled some slushie on his shoes after throwing the rest of it in Blaine's face. A _handkerchief_.

Kurt was more than aware of Blaine's incapacity to be rude, but this was Karofsky and if anyone deserved to be shunned and bullied and generally made to feel like shit, it was him. Hell, Kurt would lead the charge after what Karofsky did. But Blaine being nice to that bastard made Kurt want to hit something. Like Karofsky's face.

"So it's 'Dave' now, is it?" Kurt scoffed.

"Bullying is bullying, Kurt, it's not right in any form," Blaine said. At Kurt disbelieving scoff, Blaine looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. "What did he do to you?" he asked, so softly Kurt almost missed it.

"Nothing," Kurt said harshly, flushing in the setting sun. "He didn't do shit."

"You're lying."

"You're prying."

Blaine dropped the conversation, but he didn't leave. He had moved closer to Kurt and their sides were touching. Kurt really hoped Blaine couldn't hear his thudding heart. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

Having someone so close was just strange to Kurt. No one touched him like that except for his dad. Kurt closed his eyes against the contented feeling washing over him.

"First star," Blaine whispered, pointing at a faint flicker of light against the purple sky over the tree silhouettes. Kurt just nodded, distracted by Blaine's face so close to his own and the smell of sandalwood and flowers. Blaine's eyes were so colorful and expressive and unfair. "Hey." Blaine nudged Kurt's shoulder. "Make a wish."

"Why?" Kurt couldn't help but smile at Blaine's infectious grin.

"'Cause you deserve one. Make a wish on the first star." Blaine's breath ghosted over Kurt's ear and Kurt resisted a shudder. Blaine was just a friend, he should stop…

Kurt thought for a while.

"You make one?" Blaine was so close that Kurt didn't dare move for fear of breaking the moment.

"Yeah," he breathed.

"What was it?"

It was getting a little too _Sixteen Candles _for Kurt and he mentally shook himself out of his daze. Kurt turned to Blaine's playful expression. "Then it wouldn't come true, moron." He said, whacking Blaine's shoulder.

"There are the insults!" Blaine laughed. He shoved at Kurt's shoulder with mock hurt. "I missed them!"

Kurt rolled his eyes but smiled. Blaine was such a dork.

"Hey." Blaine's voice turned serious. "It was an important wish, right?"

As Blaine looked at him with worried hazel eyes, Kurt knew he was a goner.

_I wish we weren't just friends._

"The most important."


	5. Chapter 5

**Relationship: **Klaine  
**Rating: **R (mostly for language)  
**Word Count: **6,013/26,746 so far  
**Warnings: **swearing, homophobic language, violence, some sexual situations, angst  
**Summary: **Skank!Kurt, Nerd!Blaine AU in season 2/3. Cause everyone has to have one, right?

**Author's Note-** _Thanks for being so patient! The song mentioned is 'Heart of Gold' by Neil Young. I think this story should be about 10-15 parts altogether. Thanks as always for reading, reviewing and favoriting, it means a lot to me! If you have any questions, feel free to hit me up on tumblr!  
_

_Update- If you read this already, the last two paragraphs have been removed as they were the next chapter. My bad!_

_Update 2- I can't believe none of you noticed I mixed up Neil Diamond with Neil Young, oh god I'm so embarrassed..._

* * *

They finally let Kurt back in school after another week. Luckily, he wasn't too far behind since Blaine made it a point to go to all of his teachers to get the homework _and_ then pester Kurt until he actually did it.

The little pipsqueak was such a pain in the ass, but Kurt somehow couldn't make himself get rid of him. Blaine was just…Blaine.

A few days after the choir room, Quinn and Puck quit Glee. They refused to join until Karofsky was gone, infuriating Mr. Schue and frustrating Rachel. But they stood firm and Kurt honestly almost cried when they came to tell him, Quinn squeezing Puck's hand and Puck scowling. They didn't even know why Kurt hated that asshole so much, but they accepted that Kurt had to have a good reason and stood by him. It meant a lot.

It kind of hurt, though, when Blaine didn't.

Thankfully, Blaine did his best to never mention Glee in front of Kurt. It made for some really hilarious topic changes, though.

"_Yesterday in Gl—you know, I think you should dye your hair blue next!"_

"_Rachel was so annoying today when she started si—can you even breathe in those jeans? Wow, Kurt…"_

"_I wish you could come hear me perf—I really like dogs, are you a dog person? Puppies are so cute with their ears and their noses and little tiny yips and—"_

"_Blaine, you're crazy, are you aware of that?"_

"…_Yes?"_

So Kurt was completely blindsided when he walked into the school on the second week of October to find Karofsky chatting with Blaine at his locker, leaning against the metal nonchalantly and grinning at something Blaine said. Like they were _friends_.

Kurt's face drained, then flushed with anger. He stormed towards them with quick strides, feeling Blaine's laughter like a punch in the gut. Blaine shouldn't be laughing with him. _No one_ should. Blaine caught sight of Kurt and opened his mouth, but Kurt bypassed him to shove Karofsky up against the lockers. He pinned the larger boy with his hands and sheer anger.

"What the fuck are you doing with Anderson?" Kurt growled, leaning in close. Karofsky wasn't that much taller than him, Kurt realized, though he was wider and thicker. He really didn't care, though.

Karofsky glared and snorted, pushing Kurt off easily. "I'm talkin' to him about our stupid Glee project," Karofsky sneered. "Got a problem, Hummel?" His eyes kept dropping to Kurt's outfit and suddenly Kurt regretted his choice of ripped skinny jeans that showed his thighs and legs off.

Rage roiled through Kurt's veins, but he managed to keep his fists at his sides instead of buried in Karosky's face. "I told you to stay away from him; was that too difficult a concept for your pea brain to comprehend?" Kurt spat. Behind him, Blaine groaned softly. Tough shit, Blaine didn't know Karofksy and Kurt was going to keep his stupid ass safe. "Find a new partner." Kurt jammed a finger in Karofsky's chest.

"He can't, we were assigned," Blaine interrupted; placing a hand on Kurt's should and frowning when Kurt shrugged it off with a glare. "Kurt, come on, it's just a project. It's only for two weeks." He looked at Kurt with an earnest and pleading expression, which only reinforced how stupidly naive Blaine was.

Case in point, Kurt noticed how Karofsky watched Blaine like he was a treat; something to own. It was a familiar look and one Kurt had been on the receiving end of far too often.

Karofsky was horrible at hiding his leering, but Kurt wasn't going to let it go any further.

Kurt rolled his eyes at Blaine's idiocy and rubbed his forehead. Unfortunately, Blaine was moronically stubborn about dumb shit like this and Kurt wasn't going to able to change his mind. He rounded on Karofsky instead. "You're not going to be alone with him," Kurt ordered. "You guys meet in public or with me. Not alone."

Blaine frowned in confusion. "Kurt, what—"

"_Blaine_ is a big boy, Hummel, he can decide where to meet me," Karofsky declared, puffing himself up like the stupid alpha male he thought he was. Kurt fought the need to roll his eyes again. "Why're you acting so psycho, you little bitch?" He met Kurt's glare with a slight smirk, eyes roving over his body, making Kurt's blood run cold and Kurt fought an involuntary shudder.

Jesus fucking _Christ_, why was he _still_ affecting him?

Kurt squashed down the fear and shoved Karofsky again. "Not alone," he growled, and grabbed Blaine's arm and yanked him away.

He didn't answer Blaine's repeated and frustrated questions.

Instead, his mind flew and tried to figure out Karofsky's angle.

_What the fuck did he want now? _Kurt grimaced as he shoved Blaine into their first period class without a word.

"You're being insane, Kurt." Blaine said angrily for the fifth time since class started. He wouldn't stop hounding Kurt, continually asking about Karosky and Kurt's ultimatum and basically demanding to know what the hell was going on. It was getting irritating.

Kurt shrugged and did another math problem. "You'd better get started, Blaine, we're supposed to have these done in ten minutes." Kurt gave Blaine a calm, challenging look. "Don't want to piss off Herreman, his detentions are the worst."

Blaine actually growled. "Kurt!" A few students nearby looked up at Blaine's loud voice and Blaine blushed, muttering apologies. Kurt watched them turn away, but not before looking at Blaine with odd expressions.

"It's none of your business Blaine, let it go." Kurt snapped and went back to derivatives. Fucking derivatives.

"You're treating a friend of mine like the enemy!" Blaine leaned over and hissed. Kurt's eyes flicked up in surprise. "Kurt, come on!"

"He's not your friend!" Kurt hissed back, trying to keep his voice low. He leaned over his desk too until he and Blaine were almost nose to nose. "David Karofsky is a bully and an asshole and you have _no idea_ what he's capable of."

Blaine jerked back as if Kurt slapped him. "Kurt…"

Groaning, Kurt dropped back and shook his head. He didn't meet Blaine's pleading face. "I'm not talking about this," Kurt muttered.

Luckily, the bell rang before Blaine could come up with a reply. Kurt shoved his books into his bag and slipped his jacket on, feeling the pocket for the familiar boxy shape of his cigarette carton. All of the talk about Karofsky was making his hands shake and his nerves were rapidly fraying.

He didn't wait for Blaine's desperate "Kurt!" and instead dodged through the class, escaping the inevitable interrogation for a little longer. Outside, he could breathe.

* * *

Blaine was avoiding him.

After checking the choir room _again_, Kurt was sure of it. _Fucking dumbass four-eyed nerd._ Kurt swore under his breath and tried to push back the creeping panic as he stormed through the school. Everyone else was already at lunch or in class; the hallways were empty and Kurt's boots echoed on the tiles. It didn't do anything for Kurt's nerves.

Where the _fuck_ was Blaine?

He'd told the Glee Club he was going to library for lunch to work on homework, something Rachel only gave up after Kurt threatened to shave her head, but Blaine hadn't been there. Or the courtyard, or the bathroom by the cafeteria, or the choir room. And he wasn't answering his texts. Kurt probably would have let it go, but Karofsky wasn't at lunch either.

Kurt stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked, clenching his fists in an effort to not completely freak out. Blaine was probably fine; Karofsky wouldn't be dumb enough to try anything at school. Right?

Swallowing hard, Kurt found himself outside of the boys' locker room. The door stared at him, impassive and uncaring, and Kurt stared back. His feet weren't moving, Kurt realized dimly, and he was shaking. Trembling, actually, but still, this was just a fucking _door_.

Blaine wasn't stupid enough to go in there alone with _him_, right?

Except Kurt hadn't really given him a reason not to. With his heart in his throat, almost choking on it, Kurt forced his feet to take a step towards the door. That was when someone started singing.

"_I want to live, I want to give, I've been a miner for a heart of gold,"_ Blaine's smooth voice shaped the words beautifully and Kurt walked slowly towards the door and put an ear against the wood. Karofsky took over the next few lines, slightly off-key, but not bad.

"_It's these expressions, I never give, that keep me searching for a heart of gold,"_ sang Karofksy, and Kurt let out a tight sigh and turned around, sitting on the floor with his back to the door as he listened to Blaine and Karofsky practice.

It really fucking hurt.

That should be _Kurt_ in there. Practicing with Blaine and laughing about some stupid shit Rachel did in Glee and arguing about whether Katy Perry or Say Anything should be their next duet. Not _him_. Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Kurt realized they'd stopped singing.

"Alright, so this is really coming together! You're getting much better at staying in key and breathing, I know Neil Young wasn't your first choice but he really suits your voice, you know?" Blaine was rambling happily.

"I guess," Karofsky said, quiet even through the door.

"Hey," Blaine's voice dropped into a concerned tone and Kurt leaned his head back with a bitten off groan. "What's wrong?"

Fuck, Kurt could _see_ what Blaine would be doing. His big, stupid hazel eyes would be wide with concern and empathy and he'd probably sit close to Karofsky. Maybe pat his shoulder or rub his back because Blaine's a tactile guy and dear god, that's bile in the back of Kurt's throat. He clenched his fists tight in an effort to not burst in there and rip them apart.

He was only there to make sure Blaine was safe, okay? No need to get thrown in detention again.

"It's nothing," Karofsky said roughly, and someone started pacing the floor.

_Don't push him, Blaine._ Kurt silently warned.

"Well clearly you're upset," Blaine remarked and Kurt shook his head. _Idiot._ "Come on, what's up?"

"I don't need help from you, faggot!" Karofsky snapped, loud and harsh and that got Kurt up to his feet. He had a hand on the door when Blaine spoke.

"That was kind of uncalled for."

"Do I look like I fucking care?!"

There was silence for a long time, but at least Blaine hadn't been smeared across the floor so Kurt forced himself to relax.

"Why does Kurt hate you so much?" Blaine asked in the quiet, and Kurt's heart actually stopped.

Karofsky wouldn't tell.

Right?

"What'd he say?" Karofsky's voice edged towards anger and Kurt felt a tendril of fear trickle up his spine. The hand around the door handle was white from how hard he was gripping it.

"Nothing." Blaine said. "He won't talk about you. But he hates you and I want to know what you did. Especially if you're going to be a part of our club."

"Hummel isn't even in this gay club," Karofsky sneered. "Too much of a pussy."

"Dave—"

"I'm not talking about that fairy!" Karofsky suddenly shouted and that's when Kurt decided that fuck it, he wasn't letting Blaine stay in danger any longer. But of course, that's when the bell rang. Seconds later, the hallway was flooded with students. Kurt backed away and waited until Blaine and Karofsky left the locker room, both looking upset.

Nothing in life was ever easy, Kurt thought ruefully, following them. He'd corner Blaine after Glee.

* * *

Leaning against the old brick walls of the school, Kurt flicked his lighter on and off, on and off as he waited for Glee to end. School had been out for nearly an hour and a half and Kurt was fucking _bored_. Quinn and Puck stayed with him for a bit earlier, but then Puck mentioned that his mom had a double shift and his little sister was at cheerleading practice, and well. They hadn't stayed for long after that.

Kurt scowled at the ground, decidedly not jealous of his friends. If they wanted to hang out together and fuck, more power to them. He dropped his half-smoked cigarette and ground it out with his booted heel. It smoked lazily and Kurt grimaced at the smell. He really needed to quit.

After another few mind-numbingly dull minutes spent hearing Coach Sylvester screaming at the freshmen cheerleaders, the Glee Club began trickling out. Some shot apprehensive looks when they passed Kurt glowering at them at the bottom of the stairs, but Rachel flounced up fearlessly. Kurt had to admire her spunk. Or idiocy.

"Blaine's still practicing with David." Rachel said flatly. "They're in the auditorium." She whirled around, her long hair nearly smacking Kurt in the face, and stalked back to a nervous Finn. Grabbing Finn's arm, she fixed Kurt with a knowing look. "He specifically told me not to tell you where they were," she added. "But he looked nervous anyway." Rachel pulled Finn away, leaving Kurt alone.

"Fucking hell, Blaine," Kurt muttered under his breath, and ran back inside McKinley.

* * *

From Kurt's perch on the balcony of the auditorium, leaning on the railing in the shadows and looking down at the stage Karofsky was being a model partner. Alright, he was actually a petulant, whiny brat, but at least he did what Blaine said with only a little complaint about his masculinity slipping away. Even so far away, Kurt saw Blaine's jaw tightening after every offensive remark slipping out of Karofsky's mouth.

They were on their fourth run-through of _Heart of Gold_, with Blaine picking out the melody on the piano on stage, when Kurt noticed Karofsky was smiling. Like he was having _fun_. The idea that his tormentor was capable of something so human as joy was more than a little disconcerting and Kurt shivered in the suddenly cool air.

Eventually, Blaine ended the song with a bright grin. "Okay, I think we're good for today! We're really getting the hang of it now, thanks for staying after. I know you wanted to go to football practice." Kurt rolled his eyes at Blaine's enthusiasm.

Karofsky shrugged, aiming for nonchalance but too tense to pull it off. "Wasn't that bad," he muttered, and Kurt leaned forward. Shit, he could barely hear from the balcony, they needed to learn to _project_. On the stage, the pair fell into an awkward pause.

"No, but really," Blaine pressed and Kurt groaned inwardly. "Are you alright? I know I'm not your first choice but you can always talk to me about anything if you're upset, okay?" He sounded so honest and understanding that Kurt had to physically resist the urge to bang his head against the railing. How could Blaine be so _stupid?_

"I'm _fine_, fuck, quit being a little bitch and leave me alone!" Karofsky yelled, and Kurt tensed when he saw Blaine visibly flinch. A second later, though, Karofsky rubbed his face and rambled about how sorry he was and that it wasn't going to happen again. How familiar these mood swings still were.

Blaine, though he still looked shaken, offered Karofsky a small smile and patted his back. "It's okay," Blaine said, Kurt straining to hear. "This is a stressful situation and I know the thing with Kurt being so weird about this isn't helping."

Karofsky grunted and said something about 'Hummel' that made Blaine's composure slip a little before he recovered. Kurt watched, interested.

"Kurt's just worried about me," Blaine said tightly. "But he's my friend, so please don't talk about him like that in front of me."

"He's a fuckin' pansy; you really should stay away from him," Karofsky sneered. "He's not worth it."

"Stop it, Kurt's not that bad; I like hanging out with him."

Karofsky snorted. "He try to get into your pants yet?" he asked, pointedly looking down at Blaine's capris.

Kurt felt blood rush to his cheeks, remembering that one night and that mind-blowing kiss until Blaine shoved him off.

"Dave—"

"It's how he works!" Karofsky said loudly. "He prances around the school in those tight-ass clothes and seduces anything that moves! He's a _slut_ and a _skank_," Karofsky practically spit the words out and Kurt kept himself carefully still even though no one could see him. How _dare_ that _asshole_ say those things about him, because he _wasn't_. Kurt's fists balled up as he tried to keep his rage in check. "And everyone knows it. You shouldn't trust him," Karofsky grumbled.

From his angle, Kurt could only see the back of Blaine's gelled head, though he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing at that point. He knew Blaine had to have heard about his reputation and some of was probably deserved, but it wasn't like half the school thought. It just wasn't.

"Kurt's still my friend," Blaine repeated stubbornly, though it was shaky. "He's a good person even if people don't agree with who he is." A small tendril of hopefulness balled up in Kurt's stomach, but he watched Karofsky's reaction carefully. That dumb boy never liked being told off.

At first Karofsky looked so pissed that Kurt was almost afraid he'd hit Blaine, but then Karofsky only nodded slightly and began gathering his things. Blaine did the same, though he kept glancing at Karofsky and Kurt definitely saw how he didn't turn his back on the huge jock. Deciding that Blaine was probably safe for now, Kurt slipped out the balcony door to meet them downstairs. As he opened the door, he caught sight of Blaine's back as he walked away but Karofsky saw him and walked towards Kurt with an angry look.

Heart pounding, Kurt kept his face neutral and slightly pissed off as he let Karofsky approach, stepping into the hallway and crossing his arms. "You didn't say anything, did you?" Karofsky demanded, crowding in close. Luckily, Kurt was actually his height now and glared back, even if a small part of him was screaming at the closeness.

"I never told anyone." Kurt said with a snarl. "No one knows."

"Good." Karofsky puffed himself up, but Kurt saw that glimmer of fear in his eyes. "Keep it that way." With a last shove and hands that lingered a little too long on his chest, Karofsky pushed past Kurt disappearing down one of the hallways while Kurt tried to get his breath back.

With shaking hands, Kurt typed out a message to Puck.

**To: Puckerman  
**_Scandals. Tonight._

* * *

It was a bad idea.

It was _such_ a bad idea.

Kurt knew it after the first shot (or five) and he really shouldn't have drunk the beer on top of the two Trashcans he'd had, but at least he couldn't feel anything anymore, and that was the only way to experience Scandals on a random Tuesday night. Or any night, really. Or just life in general.

Shit, Kurt always forgot how morose drinking vodka made him.

The music was loud and pounding, forcing him to lean even closer to his dancing partner (Josh? Jason, maybe?) but at least the guy was cute and young enough and kept rubbing his hands on Kurt's waist and sides, like he was happy with what he had in front of him. It was a nice feeling; being wanted. He caught Puck's eye, Puck, who was at the bar flirting with the women who dragged their gay best friends to Lima's only gay bar. He flashed a thumbs-up to Puck as the man behind him dragged Kurt's waist to his body and began kissing his neck.

Warmth spread through Kurt's body and he ground back, feeling the man's hard cock against his ass. The music switched to some catchy Rhianna tune and Kurt got lost to the beat, twisting and sliding and grinding against Josh-Jason. Dimly, Kurt realized he was also singing loudly, but at least he was on key, which is more than he could say for the rest of the forty-somethings in the crowd.

"You're…so _tall_," Kurt forced his numb lips to say something and then started giggling because the guy really was; as tall as Finn, in fact.

Not like Blaine at all.

Kurt frowned and pushed that thought back, away before it killed his buzz. Blaine was an ungrateful little _dick_.

Jason (Kurt decided that was going to be his name) mouthed at Kurt's neck, dragging his lips up and sucking on his ear, which was hot and kind of gross at the same time. Kurt wasn't sure which, yet. "You wanna get out of here?" Jason said, huskily, and Kurt whined because _fuck yeah_, he needed to know he was good for _something_ at least. He twisted around, facing Jason (he _really _needed to find out his name) and pulled him into a hard kiss, pressing in close and groaning at how fucking _good_ everything felt.

And then his phone vibrated in his pocket and Kurt fumbled it out while letting Jason do his best to suck out his tongue.

Blearily, Kurt cracked one eye open and squinted at the moving screen.

**From: Blaine =]**  
_I know you were in the auditorium today._

**From: Blaine =]  
**_Thanks._

Kurt frowned; how the hell was he supposed to take that? Annoyed at being ignored, Jason growled into his mouth and plucked the phone out of Kurt's hands, swallowing Kurt's squawk of surprise. Surprisingly, he stuck it in Kurt's jacket pocket instead of keeping it, so Kurt threw his arms around his neck and rubbed their bodies together. Blaine could wait.

"Bathroom?" Kurt gasped out between kisses. His head swam and he was pretty certain he'd fall over if Jason wasn't holding him up. In his pocket, Kurt's phone vibrated again, but Jason was doing this thing with his _tongue_ and Kurt forgot all about the stupid piece of plastic and metal. Jason began backing them up, rubbing his hands under Kurt's shirt, hot against bare skin, and then sliding down to his ass and squeezing over the skin-tight denim and Kurt whimpered. "Shit, come on, let's go," Kurt mumbled.

He turned to walk and almost faceplanted, legs like noodles. Jason caught him and Kurt started giggling hysterically and Jason dragged him along and where even were they going? Kurt stumbled again, head swimming unpleasantly. Shit, he was so drunk.

Unfairly, the realization started sobering Kurt up but by then he was in the gross bathroom, smelling beer and sex and urine and Jason had him crowded into a stall with his shirt rucked up to his armpits and cocks lined up perfectly through tight denim and Kurt shouted at one particularly good thrust.

"So fucking hot, you slut," Jason panted into his ear, speeding up his hips. "Such a perfect ass, wanna fuck you, make you take it, like the whore you are," he moaned loudly and dropped his face into Kurt's neck, biting hard and squeezing at Kurt's ass. The words cut through Kurt's daze of booze and sex and Kurt froze.

"What did you call me?" Kurt pushed at Jason's shoulders. "Hey! What the _fuck_ did you just call me?!"

Jason blinked at him, disgruntled at the sudden lack of friction. "Nothing, Jesus, what's with you?"

Rage flooded through Kurt's veins and he shoved Jason away, even though the stall was like three feet wide and he was still right there. "I'm _not _a slut!" Kurt yelled, flushing hard at the slurred words even if they're true because Kurt's _not_. He just liked some validation occasionally. Kurt yanked his shirt back down, hating the exposed skin.

"You're hookin' up with a random dude in a gay bar, sweetie," Jason smiled, but it came out viciously. "We'll all whores here, baby, no need to be ashamed of it." He tried to move for another kiss, but Kurt slapped his hand away, chest heaving with the sudden urge to burst into tears. _This_ was why he usually stopped after shots. It never went well; like the time he woke up naked in a thirty-year old's apartment an hour away. But he didn't have sex with him. Kurt's _not_ a sleazy cheap-ass slut; he's _not._

"Don't touch me," Kurt hissed, and fumbled with the stupid latch on the stall door, cursing when it slipped through his numb fingers. Jason opened it and Kurt shot him a glare, tugging down his shirt and storming off as best he could while stumbling every couple of steps.

"Fucking tease!" Jason shouted after him, and Kurt had enough of himself left to flip the asshole off without turning around. He didn't wait for Puck, just left the bar and ignored the shouts and gropes from other patrons until he was outside in the blessedly cool air. The parking lot was dark and mostly empty; people preferred to park a block away and then walk, which is what Kurt usually did. With a sigh, he turned himself to face the direction his car should be in and started shuffling his way there.

The crisp breeze quickly cleared most of the lingering buzz, which just left Kurt feeling cold and miserable and dirty. Jason's taste, Redbull and cheap vodka, was still in his mouth and Kurt spat on the sidewalk. What a fucking asshole. Although now, outside and free of the pounding music and alcohol, Kurt could see his point. He was _such_ a whore; hooking up in the bathroom at Scandals without even knowing the guy's last name.

He tramped down the sudden urge to belt out Carrie Underwood with difficulty. But, in a really hysterically sad way, it was so funny that Kurt had his phone out and dialing and _ringing_ before he could stop himself

"_Hello? God, Kurt do you have any idea what time it is?"_

Of course it's Blaine. A tired, disgruntled and bitchy Blaine, but still Blaine.

"You're an—an asshole." Kurt told him cheerfully. Hey, he didn't even slur that much! Kurt tripped on a rock but kept himself upright with a curse.

"_Is this about those texts I sent? Are you drunk?_"

Kurt nodded before remembering how much of a bad idea that was. "Very," he informed Blaine, holding his spinning head.

Blaine huffed in his ear. _"Why are you calling me at two in the morning?"_ He sounded angry and worried all at once. It was a weird mix that only Blaine could perfect and Kurt started giggling.

"_Kurt? You're kind of scaring me, where are you?"_ Blaine's voice dropped the annoyed tone and then Kurt remembered why he was at Scandals in the first place and why he was outside even though it was fucking freezing and why he felt like total shit.

"Imma whore," he informed Blaine forlornly, kicking a rock and leaning against one of the few lampposts in the area. The light was dim and barely lit a five-foot radius, but it was better than some creepy alley. He ran his fingers through his hair, but remembered Jason tugging on the stands and stopped, feeling sick. "Just like everyone told you," Kurt added in a whisper. "Like Karofsky said."

"_No you aren't,"_ Blaine said without missing a beat. _"Where are you? I'm picking you up."_

There was some shuffling on his end while Kurt focused on taking deep breaths and not bursting into tears or puking. Being drunk was exhausting. "No, no," Kurt cut him off. "No, no, no, you're not, don—don't come."

"_I definitely am; where are you?"_

Kurt shrugged helplessly and sat down at the base of the post. There was a wrapper with a half eaten burger a few feet away and Kurt eyed it warily. And what looked like a condom on his other side. He dropped his head into his knees.

"Why do you even talk to me?" Kurt muttered into his knees.

"_For some reason, I think you're kind of awesome._" Blaine said and Kurt huffed out a small laugh. A few tears might have leaked out too.

"I'm the school skank." Kurt dragged himself to his feet and swayed unsteadily at the change in height. "Fuck. I've slept through half the gay population in Lima and—and some'f the straight. Rick the Stick?"

"_Um."_

Kurt shook his head and laughed bitterly. "His dick is fuckin' min—miniscule. And tastes like shit." Worst five minutes of his life, but at least Rick had crap stamina and the hockey team left him alone now. Blackmail works wonders.

On the other end of the phone, Kurt thought he heard a car engine turn over. _"I'm serious, Kurt, where are you?"_

"I'm _not_ telling you; fuck off!" Kurt snapped, and then the phone was yanked out of his hands. He whirled around to yell at the fucker, but was looking at an annoyed Puck.

Glaring at Kurt, Puck held the phone to his ear. "Anderson? Yeah, I got him." Puck said as he dodged an uneven swing from Kurt. "Knock it off, Hummel! What? Yeah, we're a little past Scandals, corner of Spruce and Springfield."

"I'm _fine_, I can drive myself!"

"Sure you can; right into a pole, you moron." Puck rolled his eyes at Kurt's seething. "What?" he said to Blaine, then broke into a smile. "Nah, I got a ride."

Kurt looked over his shoulder to see an older woman with a tight shirt and smeared lipstick leaning unsteadily on the building next to them. She waved at Kurt and licked her lips as she eyed him and Kurt shivered. Gross. A though occurred to him. "What about Quinn?" Kurt asked hesitantly and Puck's face darkened.

"Off again."

"Ouch."

Shrugging unhappily, Puck refocused on the phone. "'Kay. We'll wait for you." Puck finished up and switched Kurt's phone off. He tossed it at Kurt. "Your boyfriend's coming to get you, Boozey."

"Shut up," Kurt growled and stashed his phone. He was so _not_ pouting. "He's not my boyfriend." Kurt added.

Puck snorted, clearly unimpressed with Kurt's denial. "So what happened in there? Thought you were getting it on with Jordan." Puck raised an eyebrow and the blond woman stumbled over, giggling.

Huh. So his name was Jordan. Kurt shrugged but ignored them, caught up in the residual shame Jordan's name evoked. Shit, and he'd almost slept with that scumbag. Wisely, Puck dropped the subject in favor of making out with his MILF and Kurt sincerely wondered if he could kill himself by running into a wall. Hearing one of his best friends get a near-handjob two feet away was not ever on his bucket list.

Thankfully, _thankfully_, Blaine pulled up to the curb fifteen minutes later in a vintage blue Mustang and Kurt practically flew into the passenger seat without a goodbye. Puck could find his own way home after subjecting Kurt to _that_. He slammed the door behind him but didn't bother with the seatbelt or a greeting.

"Um, hi?" Blaine stared at him; hair ungelled and dressed in sweatpants and a tank top. Kurt wasn't entirely sure he was even wearing shoes, pointing to fact that Kurt, like a true asshole, made him get out of bed in the middle of the night and come get him like a baby. God, he was such a freak. "You have anything to say?" Blaine's voice edged on irritated. Kurt shrugged in response.

Next to him, Blaine huffed angrily, but pulled away from the curb when Puck pinned the woman against the streetlight with a loud moan. They drove for a few minutes in silence.

"Put on your seatbelt." Blaine suddenly said. Kurt looked at him and raised an eyebrow because seriously? Fuck that. "_Kurt_." Blaine glared at him. "Seatbelt."

"No."

Blaine slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street and twisted to face Kurt. "Put on your fucking seatbelt!" he yelled, startling Kurt so much he had the belt drawn and clicked in before he realized it. "Thank you," Blaine said calmly, though his nostrils still flared in anger.

His hands stayed tight around the steering wheel as they drove towards Kurt's house. Kurt sent him side glances, noting Blaine's tense shoulders and thin mouth. When they pulled up to his darkened driveway, Blaine slammed the breaks a little hard and Kurt winced at the momentum change. Rubbing his head, Kurt wished he was still drunk. Sobering up was the worst part.

"I don't know what's going on with you," Blaine eventually said in a stiff voice, "But I don't like it."

Kurt looked out the window at the moonlit house. "You and everyone else," he muttered. Another lecture was _just_ what he needed after all, never mind that he still felt like shit after Jason (_Jordan)._He looked over at Blaine, but Blaine gave him this _look_ and for some reason, Blaine's disappointment hurt almost as bad as his dad's. "Don't look at me like that," Kurt growled and shakily undid his seatbelt, the car suddenly stifling. He had a hand on the door when Blaine grabbed his arm.

"Kurt, please," Blaine's eyes were pleading. "_Please_. I'm worried about you."

"You shouldn't be," Kurt grumbled. He was going to move. Really. As soon as his head stopped spinning.

"The auditorium." Blaine suddenly said. Kurt glanced at him. "You were there."

Rolling his eyes, Kurt glared out the window. "'Course I was."

"Why?"

They just kept going in circles. "'Cause I don't want you alone with him!" Kurt shouted. "That _bastard _is not—I don't—" Kurt growled in frustration. "I had to be there." he admitted begrudgingly, fully aware of how psycho he sounded. "I don't like him."

"I'm aware," Blaine snorted. He kept shooting over worried glances, which Kurt tried to ignore before he said something he shouldn't. Blaine shouldn't care this much. He was still practically a stranger. "What did Dave do to you?" Blaine asked, low and scared and determined.

Kurt whirled around. "_No."_ He hissed, furious. "You do _not_ get to ask me that. Not now."

Blaine glared right back. "You mean when you might actually tell me?" he challenged. "You're scared to _death_ of me being alone with him, but you won't tell me why? Kurt, this isn't fair!"

Shutting his eyes against memories of last year, Kurt let out a harsh breath and collapsed back into the seat. "Please just trust me on this," Kurt whispered. "_Please_."

"This is killing you," Blaine maintained stubbornly. "And that's killing _me_. Why were you even at Scandals tonight, anyway? Oh." He suddenly blushed and Kurt knew he finally noticed the giant hickey on the side of his neck.

"Told you I'm a whore," Kurt muttered as the shame and embarrassment slammed into him again. He fumbled with the door again, but this time, Blaine didn't stop him. "Thanks for the ride," Kurt acknowledged the car with a quick nod and practically fled, pretending not to notice Blaine's sickened expression as he shut the car door.

Ten minutes later, he was in the shower and listening to Blaine's car drive off with a rumble. Kurt dropped his head against the cool tile and started scrubbing the stench of the bar and the feel of roaming hands from his skin. One red and raw and as clean as he thought he'd get, Kurt fell into his bed, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. He suddenly remembered he had another text, back when he was making out with the guy on the dance floor. He'd never actually read it, and even though his mind knew it could only make him feel worse, Kurt leaned over to his night table and dragged his phone to his tired eyes.

**From: Blaine =]  
**_I didn't believe what Karofsky said about you._

Kurt threw the phone on the table and rolled over, hating himself a little more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Relationship: **Klaine  
**Rating: **R (mostly for language)  
**Word Count: **6,290/33,000+ so far  
**Warnings: **swearing, homophobic language, violence, some sexual situations, angst  
**Summary: **Skank!Kurt, Nerd!Blaine AU in season 2/3. Cause everyone has to have one, right?

**Author's Note-**_This took forever, I'm sorry. I haven't proofread it as much as usual and I'm in the mountains with my family, so let know if you spot any glaring errors. Otherwise, enjoy! Thanks for reading!__  
_

* * *

Because life sucked and had it out for him, Kurt was nursing a brutal hangover the next morning when Rachel Berry cornered him at his locker.

"Oh for fuck's sake, why are you here?" Kurt groaned and shoved his sunglasses on in an effort to block out her hideously pink sweater. "And Jesus, whoever made your clothes deserves to be burnt at the stake for allowing that to see the light of day," he added, wincing when she hit his arm with an insulted gasp. Girls, _Jesus_.

"What did you do to Blaine last night?" Rachel demanded, crossing her arms.

Kurt leaned back against his locker and looked up at the ceiling. Who knew it was actually possible to feel _worse_ than he had five seconds ago? His head still hurt, the lights were too damn bright, and Jason had practically _gnawed_ on his neck so Kurt had to find a silver scarf from the back of his closet to hide the hickey from his father. He felt like a fucking hipster, which just sucked.

Rachel yelling at him was just the icing on the cake. "I didn't do anything," he muttered. Kurt resisted the urge to kick the lockers like the petulant brat he was.

Rachel gave him a disbelieving look and snatched his glasses, ignoring Kurt's indignant glare. "He barely spoke to me this morning and he's not even wearing a bowtie!" Rachel poked his chest with the end of them.

Kurt rubbed his pounding head and let out an exasperated noise. "He'll be fine."

"Kurt—"

"Leave me the fuck alone!" Kurt snapped and stormed away, brushing past Quinn. She grabbed his arm and spun Kurt around to face her, letting Kurt see the new Fabray. Jesus, she was newly blond and already crammed into a Cheerios outfit; no wonder she dumped Puck. Hell, after today, she'd probably never even be seen dead with one loser Kurt Hummel. He'd be trashed like yesterday's news. Like Puck. Kurt straightened his shoulders and met her eyes stoically.

She fixed him with a stern look and her tight ponytail bobbed with every head movement. Kurt rolled his eyes scornfully. "Hummel. What the fuck did you do now?" Quinn fixed him with a disdainful look, like she knew Kurt was always going to fuck everything up. Such a familiar feeling. Kurt felt a vein pulsing in his jaw and his head still hurt and he knew he was about to say something mean and callous and he really should walk away but at that moment; fuck it.

"Well," Kurt said, falsely bright. "I didn't sell my soul to the devil or dump my boyfriend for the first slim chance at popularity, if that's what you were asking." Kurt raised an eyebrow at her attire pointedly and Quinn flushed. Steeping closer, she pulled him in hard so he had no choice but to listen to the she-witch.

"Puck called me this morning," Quinn growled with a fierce glare.

"He could keep his head out of the toilet that long, huh?"

Quinn actually shoved Kurt, forcing him backwards into the lockers. "Just because I'm wearing a skirt doesn't mean I can't still kick your ass," she snarled, her fingers curled into Kurt's jacket. "Blaine looks ready to cry every time someone looks at him wrong; was it your fault?"

Kurt stared down the emptying hallway and set his mouth in a firm line. "Probably," he gritted out.

"You fuck and dump him?"

"No!" Kurt whipped his head around to face her, startled. Shit, did people really think he'd do that?

Nodding knowingly, Quinn stepped back and released him. "Fix it," she frowned. "We need Blaine on top of his game for Regionals, not moping into his PB and J." She stalked away to homeroom without a backwards glance and Kurt dropped his head against the lockers with a bang. _Fuck._ The queen bitch was _definitely _back. After a few minutes of listening to the bland announcements, Kurt dragged his feet towards homeroom.

He was three classrooms away when he remembered that Rachel still had his sunglasses and Kurt swore violently, startling a late freshman into running away. He glared after her and considered just ditching the rest of the day.

Of course, Karofsky found him two seconds later and pulled Kurt into an empty classroom before Kurt could escape to freedom.

"Just can't keep your hands off me, huh?" Kurt drawled as Karofsky shoved him against the closed door. He hadn't missed this.

"_Jesus_, why do you always do that?!" Karofksy snarled, pressing Kurt into the wood. "I'm not gonna attack you!"

"Considering the fact that you gave me a _concussion_ like two weeks ago? Pretty sure I have a fucking good reason, asshole!" Kurt glared at him and resisted the urge to flinch when Karofsky growled and dropped him. He dusted himself off as the jock backed away, trying to hide the trembling in his hands. Shit, his head still hurt.

After a few minutes of increasingly awkward silence, Karofsky groaned and fell back against a desk, crossing his arms with a miserable expression.

Kurt didn't trust it.

"Anderson's scared of me." Karofsky muttered, and Kurt scoffed at the hurt in the asshole's voice.

"And you don't think he should be?" Kurt remarked with a raised eyebrow. At the sarcastic tone, Karofsky stood up and planted himself in front of Kurt, a dark expression crossing his face.

"I don't know how you remember last year," Karofsky started, jamming a finger into Kurt's chest, "But I didn't do anything to you that you didn't want." He locked eyes with Kurt.

Kurt's legs felt like jelly, but white-hot rage kept him standing. "Is that what you think?" Kurt hissed incredulously, stepping into Karofsky's space. "Is that how you can sleep at night? You think that everything between us was _consensual?!_"

Karofsky gaped at him with wide eyes and the scared expression in them stunned Kurt into silence. _Seriously? _Taking a step back, Kurt wrapped his arms around his waist protectively. Shit, what the hell was going on?

His hangover decided to return in full force and Kurt pressed on his temple and bit back a moan. "Okay, you know? No." Kurt hefted his bag over his shoulder and took off towards the door. "I'm not dealing with this now." He twisted the handle, opening the door a few inches before Karofsky leapt to slam it shut. Kurt clenched his jaw and glared at the jock, though his heart started pounding. No one knew where he was if Karofsky tried something.

_No one who would care anyway_, Kurt thought bitterly.

"Open. The fucking. Door." Kurt took perverse pleasure at how Karofsky paled at his dangerous tone.

"No, no, no, we're talking about this," Karofsky said stubbornly. "Come on, Kurt," he lifted a hand towards Kurt's face and Kurt couldn't help flinching back. There were too many memories; too many ways this could go so wrong; and Kurt _remembered_ last year with scary clarity and he wasn't the same person. Not anymore. Karofsky's face clouded. He swallowed and tried again. "Kurt—"

"Don't—" Kurt started harshly. "Just—_don't._" He yanked open the door and pushed past Karofsky without a word, ignored his tortured face. _No._

* * *

Blaine found him under the bleachers smoking during lunch. Without saying a word, he grabbed a battered brown bag out of his backpack, tossed the mostly empty backpack on top of Kurt's bag, and then flopped down on the ground next to Kurt. He yanked out his sandwich and started eating it while Kurt stared, a half-smoked cig hanging between his fingertips.

Sighing, Kurt jammed the still-burning butt into the dirt and leaned back on the threadbare couch one of Quinn's Skank friends had rescued from a dumpster. Blaine seemed determined to send mixed signals in a bizarre "talk-to-me-no-don't-talk-to-me-no-talk-to-me" way and Kurt hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep for that shit.

His dad was going to be proud of him for being the bigger person for once.

"Thanks for giving me a ride last night," Kurt muttered, studying the ground instead of Blaine.

There was a long silence, long enough that Kurt started wondering if Blaine had gotten extra stealthy and just left, but then Blaine let out an exasperated groan and Kurt finally looked up into a frustrated glare.

"You're such an asshole sometimes, you know that?" Blaine snarled.

Kurt nodded in agreement. Blaine wasn't wrong. Almost instantly, Blaine's face fell, shifting into guilt.

"I don't know why you do that."

"Do what?" Kurt frowned, but Blaine shrugged helplessly and dropped his half-eaten sandwich on the plastic wrap.

He let out a long breath before looking at Kurt again. "You're always hurting yourself." He said, frowning at Kurt's harsh laugh.

"I'm not cutting, Blaine," Kurt snorted. Of course, Blaine just saw him as yet another statistic. Just one more fucked up gay kid three seconds from slitting his wrists in his bathtub. Sitting up, he loosely wrapped his arms around his legs and glared moodily at the ground.

Blaine narrowed his eyes and Kurt looked away from that too-knowing gaze. "I didn't mean physically." Blaine said quietly.

Yeah, he was _definitely _not drunk enough for that kind of conversation. Kurt snorted again, but didn't answer, noting Blaine's stubborn expression. He couldn't understand why no one seemed to the grasp the concept of leaving him the hell alone. Moodily, he rummaged inside his jacket pocket for another cig. Sure, they smelled like shit, but it might get Blaine to drop that stupid line of conversation and just nag him about nicotine. Kurt could handle that.

Sure enough, Blaine glared at the cigarette, but didn't say anything when Kurt stuck it between his lips and began searching for his lighter. It was jammed in his back pocket, of course, and Kurt tugged it out with an annoyed growl. He was about to flick the flame on when Blaine interrupted him.

"Dave and I are going to perform today at Glee." He glanced at Kurt, shrinking into himself like he was afraid of Kurt's reaction. And yeah, it hurt because Blaine should be singing with _Kurt_ not _him_, but Kurt wasn't a monster and it'd be really great if people could remember that every now and then.

"Lucky you," Kurt muttered, lighting his cig and drawing in a deep breath of smoke before releasing it pointedly downwind of Blaine. See, not a monster.

Blaine let out a frustrated noise and Kurt turned to look at his miserable expression. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, then settled for a glare. Kurt took another drag from his cig.

"I wanted to ask if you'd come." Blaine said, sounding nervous. "Maybe—maybe you'd have fun? Come back? Everyone really misses you, you know; and Rachel—"

"Blaine, stop," Kurt finally cut off his friend's rambling. "No one gives a shit if I'm there or not, and you know it."

Looking slightly offended, Blaine opened his mouth to reply but a look from Kurt had him wilting. "Maybe they don't say it…" he started, trailing off at Kurt's raised eyebrow.

Shaking his head, Kurt put out his cig. He was just wasting money all over the place, he realized, scowling at the lingering smoke. "I don't want to be there," Kurt said carefully. "I just. Don't."

"Because of Dave?" Blaine searched his face. "You don't want to be near him."

"No," Kurt admitted, feeling his hands clench. He remembered the expression on Karofsky's face that morning; the longing and guilt and anger.

But it really wasn't fair, Kurt realized as Blaine deflated next to him. He was avoiding his best friend because of year-old demons (and Blaine _was_ his best friend; even when Kurt was being a dick he still drove out at two in the morning to pick Kurt's drunk ass up and wanted Kurt to hear him perform and sought him out specifically to just talk) and Kurt was a little sick of letting that asshole run his life.

He wasn't ready to face Karofsky and their weird talk that morning, though. Not today.

"I'll tell you what happened," Kurt found himself saying, shifting under Blaine's astonished stare. "Not—not yet, but," Kurt searched for the right words, tugging on one of his earrings and looking at the ground instead of Blaine's expression. "One day. I'll tell you. Just—"

"Don't be alone with him?" Blaine guessed, smiling crookedly at Kurt's guilty nod. "I can do that." After Kurt cracked a small, but grateful smile, Blaine turned back to his sandwich for the last few minutes of lunch. "Can I ask you something?" Blaine asked after a few bites, wincing.

Oh dear God. "Yeah," Kurt still eyed him suspiciously. Blaine looked like a weird mix of constipated and embarrassed, which meant that whatever was about to be asked was going to be awkward for everyone involved. "Spit it out, Blaine," Kurt said, resigned to the fact that there was a slim chance he'd get out of this with his dignity intact.

"Um. Last night," Blaine lifted his hand like he was going to run it through his hair before he remembered that it was gelled to oblivion. He lowered it quickly. Letting out a long breath, Blaine finally looked Kurt in the eye. "Was it—are you—Kurt, are you alright? You were just _really_ upset, and was it my fault or," he gestured at the scarf around Kurt's neck. Unconsciously, Kurt's hand flew up and tugged the fabric into place.

"I just had a really bad day," Kurt said lightly, noting how Blaine's expression darkened slightly at the scarf. "He was an ass, that's all."

"Was it—d'you—" Blaine looked at him helplessly and Kurt could practically hear Blaine silently screaming _please get what I'm trying to ask, this is mortifying!_ Kurt chuckled.

"It was just a hookup, Blaine, he didn't mean anything and I'm probably never seeing him again." Kurt raised an eyebrow when Blaine's shoulders relaxed. "He was an ass." Kurt added.

"Really?" Blaine wrinkled his nose up in disgust.

Kurt inhaled sharply and turned to Blaine with a brittle smile. "He kind of, um. He called me a slut." Kurt sniffed, wiping at his suddenly stinging eyes. It's been like a whole day; some stupid jackass from Scandals should _not_ make Kurt feel like crying in the middle of school. And he wasn't going too. Kurt scrubbed his face dry and forced himself to calm down. "I objected, and well. Still single," Kurt said, winking.

Blaine blushed at Kurt's words, but smiled brightly and shit. Kurt was pretty sure he was still supposed to be annoyed with the four-eyed idiot, but he couldn't remember why when Blaine looked so happy.

"You're not a slut, Kurt." Blaine knocked his shoulders.

"Mmm, pretty sure most of the school would object," Kurt muttered dryly, thinking about the rumors that flew around McKinley.

"Yeah, well, they're assholes." Blaine said grumpily. "They don't know anything."

It was a sweet sentiment, but Kurt knew better. Having one person with faith in him was, nice, though, so he let Blaine think what he wanted. They sat in silence until the bell rang, echoing across the grounds. Kurt tossed Blaine his backpack and dragged himself to his feet, stretching his muscles. At least the hangover was finally fading. He grabbed his own bag and slung it over his shoulder while he waited for Blaine.

"So we're good, right?" Blaine asked, standing up and looking at Kurt uncertainly

Rolling his eyes, Kurt shoved Blaine's shoulder. "Yeah, we're good."

Mostly.

* * *

The rest of the week dragged, but at least he and Blaine were back to texting. They hung out after school, with Blaine even stopping by the garage during Kurt's shifts after Glee. He had a feeling his dad approved of Blaine and after a day or so, told Blaine to "Call me Burt, son, I got a feelin' you'll be around a lot." Kurt nearly dropped a wrench in Mr. Demmer's car when he heard that because not even Quinn or Puck got to call his father by his first name. The beaming smile on Blaine's face for the rest of the day made Kurt's stomach twist, though not unpleasantly.

After a few days of Blaine nagging her, Rachel finally stopped glaring daggers at him every morning. She refused to speak to him when she and Finn were invited to dinner one night, but Kurt was mostly thankful for that. It had been awkward enough with his dad alternately silently begging Kurt to behave and making heart eyes at Carol while Finn just shoved everything in his mouth. Kurt only survived by texting Blaine the entire time.

Quinn, like Kurt had predicted, barely spoke to him in public though she still regularly blew up Kurt's phone to bitch about the cheerleaders, Rachel, how stupid Finn was, the Glee Club, Rachel, Puck's desperate attempts to win her back, and Rachel.

He was getting really fucking sick of hearing about Rachel.

One rare day when his dad wasn't holding him hostage at the garage, Kurt decided to wait for Blaine after school. He just wanted coffee and someone that wouldn't judge him for getting a mocha, alright? Puck would bitch the whole time and Quinn still wasn't talking to him; Kurt was kind of low on options.

Blaine was really fucking late, though, and Kurt sighed as he dropped his finished cig and ground it out with his heel. Puck was leaning against the wall next to him, moping about Quinn ditching him for some other, more traditional football player (Sam? Some blond guy at least...) when cruel laughter caught Kurt's attention. Kurt glanced at Puck, who frowned. It was coming from inside the school and a small flicker of fear curled in Kurt's chest.

"Come on," he muttered to Puck, starting for the school doors. "Got a bad feeling about this." Puck nodded with a grin. Well, at least Puck could beat someone up and get Quinn out of his system. Kurt was still on double-secret probation, courtesy of Figgins.

Even halfway down the hallway, he could hear the frantic shouts and pounding of some poor soul trapped in one of the janitor's closets, probably gagging on the potent smell of bleach and chemicals. Outside, there was a group of jocks in red lettermen jackets guffawing and laughing together. Azimio in particular snickered loudly and high-fived one of his brain-dead buddies as the shouts got more panicked. Kurt hesitated for a few seconds, but then he caught sight of fucking _Karofsky_ standing behind Azimio and glancing at Kurt miserably every couple of seconds.

Yeah, he definitely had to intervene now, if only to piss off Karofsky.

Putting on his scariest face, Kurt stormed towards the group, boots clacking loudly on the linoleum flooring and Puck following close on his heels.

"Aw, hell, what's Skank Boy doin' here?" Azimio sneered at them. "Coming to rescue Gel-Head?" He elbowed Karofsky and laughed again, but Kurt's stomach dropped when he finally recognized the cries coming from behind the door.

"_Fuck_, did you idiots lock Blaine in there?!" Kurt stared incredulously at the door. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" He crossed the small clearing of students and pressed an ear against the door. Sure enough, there was a small, but familiar "_Kurt?"_ that answered his question. He whirled around and fixed Karofsky with a fierce glare.

And he wondered why Blaine didn't trust him.

_Great work, jack-ass,_ Kurt thought savagely.

"Yo, seriously, dudes?" Puck crossed his arms with a threatening frown at the football team. "Anderson's like half your size; what the hell?" A few of them looked slightly guilty, but Azimio just rolled his eyes.

"Kurt? Oh no, this is not happening…" Blaine sounded close to tears and honestly, it was a bit insulting. "This is so embarrassing; oh my _god."_

"'Fraid so," Kurt muttered, jiggling the doorknob. It remained stuck, and Kurt froze. "Aw, fuck," he breathed, trying to twist the door open again, but the handle just rattled uselessly.

"That's not funny, Kurt, open the door." Blaine hit the door, an edge of panic creeping into his words. Even through the wood, Kurt heard the tell-tale signs of Blaine's breathing speeding up into anxious territory. "It can't be stuck; just open it!"

Azimio started snickering again until Karofsky shoved him, muttering "Lay off, man." It didn't stop Azimio from rolling his eyes, though a few of the bystanders looked uneasy.

"Kurt, I'm serious, get me out of here!" Blaine hit the door again harder and even more panicked. "Kurt!"

"Puck, get rid of them and go get Schuester," Kurt muttered over his shoulder. Puck nodded and immediately began clearing the hallway, threatening the younger kids with swirlies if they didn't clear out. Karofsky got Azimio to leave with a promise of some stupid video game, through he shot an unhappy glance over his shoulder at Kurt. Kurt glowered back because this shit was still his fault, the giant moron. And _then_ Kurt saw Finn slinking away, trying to hide behind a kid half his height. Oh, Kurt wasn't going to forget this, but Blaine was a little more important at the moment. Once the hallway was mostly empty, Puck gave Kurt a sympathetic look as he took off to find Schuester.

The doorknob jiggled in his hand and the door shook as Blaine frantically tried to force it open. "Please, let me out," Blaine gulped in harsh breaths, almost crying at that point. "Please, please, please, don't leave me here, let me out!"

"Blaine!" Kurt said sharply, slightly alarmed at the fact that Blaine was practically hyperventilating. "Blaine, babe, you have to calm down, okay? I'm right here; I'm not going anywhere."

"Not helping!" Blaine snapped back, but at least he hadn't passed out so Kurt's hurt feelings could take a backseat for all he cared.

Kurt took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm as he heard Blaine start to panic again. "Blaine," he said evenly, "we're going to get you out and I'm going stay right here against this door while we wait. Together."

"Really?" Blaine laughed bitterly. "You're not going to leave me or run away like always, huh?" The words were harsh and sarcastic and Kurt squeezed his hands into fists to avoid snapping back.

"Quit being a brat, Anderson," Kurt replied. "I'm sitting on the floor in black jeans; you better appreciate this sacrifice." He smiled faintly at Blaine's indignant sputtering, leaning his back against the door.

"You're worried about your stupid pants?!" Blaine yelled, pounding the stuck door to further his point. "I'm trapped in a closet and you're whining about _dust stains?!"_ He shook the door handle again, growling at the door until he sank against the wood with a heavy thump. Kurt was kind of relieved that Blaine was too busy being pissed at him than being terrified until it sounded like Blaine was running a marathon in there, gulping deep quick breaths.

"Blaine?" Kurt called through the door worriedly. "Hey, Blaine, you alright in there?"

"No!" There was a muffled thump as Kurt thought Blaine smacked the door again. "I'm _freaking the fuck out,_ open the fucking door!" Kurt frowned, Blaine hardly ever swore; he'd only heard him once before. _Shit_. If he was having a panic attack, this could get bad.

Okay. He had to calm Blaine down before he hyperventilated himself into actually passing out. "Well, at least those therapy sessions when I was six are going to be good for something," he said under his breath, even as his chest tightened at the memories of the panick attacks he used to get when his mom died. They hadn't been fun, but therapists eventually found a couple of coping mechanisms that helped "Blaine, listen to me. I want you count to ten." He rolled his eyes when Blaine repeated "_Count to ten?!"_ incredulously. "Come on, Blaine, stay with me. One…two…three…"

Blaine whined, but Kurt kept counting slowly until Blaine joined in shakily on the second repeat. Eventually, his breathing evened out into safer territory and by the time Puck showed up with Schuester and the janitor, Blaine was about as relaxed as he could be while trapped in a dark, smelly closet.

As soon as the janitor got the door open, though, Blaine almost tripped over himself running out of the damn room and flung himself at Kurt, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tight. Surprised, Kurt returned the hug hesitantly. Puck winked suggestively like the horny dog he was.

"I don't know who it was and I don't want to talk about it; I just want to go home," Blaine mumbled into Kurt's shoulder. Kurt glared at Schuester over Blaine's head, daring him to say something. "Please, I just want to go." Blaine pulled back and there was too much fear remaining in his expression for Kurt to even consider forcing Blaine to rat out the football team. Besides, he understood keeping secrets and protecting himself all too well.

"Okay," Kurt breathed, nodding. "Okay, Blaine, we can go. Now." Relief spread over Blaine's face and he yanked Kurt into another bone-crushing hug.

Schuester still looked like he was about to make Blaine stay and talk about it, but Puck shook his head warningly. Their teacher sighed. "Alright, we'll…discuss this on Monday." He said reluctantly. Kurt nodded and walked Blaine out after getting Blaine to release him enough to move.

He wasn't about to let Azimio and Karosky get away with this shit, though.

* * *

Driving Blaine to his empty house was tense and awkward and a lesson in patience as Kurt resisted turning the car around, driving to Karofsky's house, and laying into the jock with every move he had. The steering wheel leather squeaked under his tight grip and Kurt forced his hands to relax enough to get some blood flow back to his fingers. His hands would look so much better as fists. Preferably buried in Karofsky's or Azimio's face.

What kind of arrogant dickheads did something like that? Blaine's harmless; Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if they'd tried something with him, but Blaine was off-limits. God, he wanted to hit something at the moment.

Blaine was curled up in the passenger seat, shaking and hugging his legs without looking at Kurt. It took a few minutes for Kurt to coax him out of the car when they got to his house, but Blaine eventually followed him, unlocking the huge house with stiff fingers and walking inside. He didn't slam the door behind him, so Kurt took a chance and followed him inside. No way would he leave Blaine alone yet. He'd barely spoken since leaving the school and the silence was starting to scare Kurt. In all the times they'd hung out, Blaine _never_ shut up. Kurt missed it.

"Blaine, are your parents home?" Kurt asked, unconsciously hushing his voice in the quiet house. Even so, his question echoed in the entryway and Kurt winced. Blaine toed off his shoes next to the door and shrugged.

"No," he said, dejected. "They won't be home for a while." Blaine tried to smile at Kurt, but it faded too quickly for it be a real one. "You don't have to stay, I'm fine." He turned away but Kurt heard a wet sniff and Blaine was an idiot if he thought Kurt was just going to leave after that.

"Don't be stupid, Blaine," Kurt pushed him gently towards the stairs. "Let's go upstairs." Blaine stared at him and Kurt rolled his eyes. "Jesus, _relax_, I'm not gonna try anything. Move it, Romeo." Still eying Kurt, Blaine obeyed and took the stairs slowly.

Once in his room, Blaine sat on his bed against the headboard and Kurt took the foot of the bed. Dragging a pillow into his lap, Blaine hugged it to his chest. His hands still shook.

Kurt crossed his legs and waited. Blaine had to work things out himself and decide what he want to say or not say. Kurt wasn't going to pry. He had enough of that from everyone else in his life; he could give Blaine some space.

He still wasn't going to leave Blaine alone yet. He wasn't an idiot; that closet traumatized Blaine and there had to be a reason behind it. Blaine had been too scared for that to be nothing.

"It happened at my old school. Before Dalton." Blaine whispered after a while. He kept his eyes fixed on the pillow. Kurt waited for him to continue. "Damn." Blaine scrubbed at his face under the glasses and sniffed. "I'm not—I'm like this, I swear, I'm just—"

Wordlessly, Kurt held out a hand and Blaine gripped it like he was drowning, white knuckles and everything.

"If you tell anyone I held your hand…"

"You'll kick my ass, I know," Blaine let out a laugh. Redoubling his grip, he pulled Kurt up to sit next to him, shifting over to make room. "I hadn't even come out yet," Blaine shook his head. "These guys—they were a year above me and we were on the soccer team together and one day they…" He swallowed and Kurt fought down the urge to find the assholes that put that scared expression on Blaine's face. "They locked me in a closet at school after practice and then the school was locked up for the weekend." He said it all in a quick breath, like getting it out fast would make the memory fade faster.

But seriously though, _what?!_

"They left you in a closet for an entire _weekend?!"_ Kurt stared at Blaine, horrified. Shit, Kurt knew kids could be cruel sometimes, but that was pretty fucking evil.

"The police found me Saturday night," Blaine corrected dully. "After my mom reported me missing and they interviewed one of the kids. I just…I spent the entire time trapped there and it was dark and—and my parents didn't even notice until I didn't show up to breakfast. I thought I was going to die; all by myself that no one would _care_."

A vision of a smaller Blaine with even dorkier glasses curled up on the floor of a closet and whimpering in fear appeared in Kurt's mind and Kurt wasn't sure if he was burst into tears or kick someone's ass more. How _dare _they.

"Anyway," Blaine shook himself as if to forget. "I never liked small spaces after that. I just kind of panicked earlier but I'm fine now." Finally looked at Kurt, Blaine shrugged. "I'm fine."

"You're really not," Kurt sighed. "You sound just like me, which means you're lying through your teeth." Blaine glanced at him sharply. "But thanks for telling me. I know it's hard to talk about that kind of shit." Kurt ruffled Blaine's hair as best he could with the mountain of gel, dodging Blaine's swat.

"So…" Blaine tried for nonchalance. "Does this you'll tell me about Karofsky?"

"Don't push it."

"Okay!" Blaine laughed and slumped back against the pillows, half-leaning on Kurt's shoulder. "Where'd you learn that, anyway?"

"Learn what?" Kurt tried not to let on that his heart was pounding at Blaine's closeness. Christ, this just wasn't _fair_.

Shrugging against him, Blaine looked up at Kurt. "The counting thing. To stop me from freaking out."

"You were having a panic attack from post-traumatic stress. There's a difference." Kurt corrected. He sighed, debating on how much to tell Blaine. "After my mom died, I used to get them really bad. Freaked my dad out a couple times. One of my therapists taught me that; I hadn't used it in awhile."

"Well. Thanks." Blaine shifted closer. "I'm sorry about your mom." He looked up guiltily, wincing.

Kurt understood. There's not much you can say when your best friend told you that their mom was dead. "Yeah, me too," Kurt muttered. The weird mood was broken by his phone buzzing. Glaring at it, Kurt unlocked the damn thing and scanned the text from his dad, groaning.

"I'm supposed to be home for dinner in twenty minutes," Kurt rubbed his forehead, sighing. "Dad'll kill me if I skip again." Kurt looked at the door in frustration. He had to go to dinner; but he _really_ didn't want to leave Blaine alone.

Blaine sat up and pushed his shoulder. "It's okay. I'll do homework or something." He sounded way too calm and Kurt narrowed his eyes until Blaine made a face.

"I'm coming back, okay? It'll be like, two hours max." Kurt said firmly, standing up and shrugging his jacket on. "Take or shower or something; that shit is not good for your hair."

Blaine's hand flew up to touch his hair defensively. "Leave my gel alone, heathen." He glared.

Raising an eyebrow, Kurt snorted. "Your hair will thank me," he smirked, spinning on his heel as he left. One day, he'd get Blaine to see his reasoning.

Blaine caught up with him just before he walked out the front door. "Kurt. I'm really fine, I promise. Go be with your dad, I can handle myself." His arms were crossed around his middle in a familiar move. Shit, the _last _thing Kurt needed was for Blaine to turn into a clone of himself.

"You're an idiot." Kurt informed him. "But you're right. You'll be fine." Kurt nudged Blaine back to the stairs. "I'm still coming back after suffering through dinner. I think I know why Dad wants me back there so bad and I'm probably going to need a place to hide after I murder Finn." He winked at Blaine's apprehensive expression.

Waving, Kurt shut the door behind him a sighed. Time to face the executioner.

* * *

Kurt was right; Friday Night Dinners apparently included Carole and Finn now.

At least this time, Kurt actually sat at the table the entire time and only glowered at Carole a few times. He even passed her the salad instead of throwing it at her stupid, mothering face. Burt should be proud.

Finn kept shifting in his seat and barely looked at Kurt. Narrowing his eyes, Kurt watched him squirm. Oh, he knew Kurt saw him at the school and he knew Kurt was just biding his time. He flinched every time Kurt said something, cause him mom to ask if he was alright.

"Finn. How was school, buddy?" Burt grinned around a mouthful of lettuce. "I can barely get Kurt to say anything, but what about you?"

"Uh, school's fine," Finn said hurriedly, eyes flickering to Kurt before gluing themselves to his plate.

"Just fine? Did you do anything fun?" Carol asked kindly. Kurt glared at Finn, who slunk down in his chair.

"Nope, nope, it was boring, can I be done? I'm not hungry…" Finn trailed off at his mom's worried expression.

_Be more obvious, Finn. Please._ Kurt kicked him under the table with a booted foot. Finn yelped and nearly tipped over his plate in surprise.

"You know what? I'm done too," Kurt said, smiling falsely. "I have to give Finn some notes from math, though, can we be excused?" Finn stared at him with wide eyes, and Kurt shot him a look of absolute _death_ that had Finn nodding frantically in agreement.

"Yeah, sure, we'll clean up," Burt said, meeting Carole's glance with one of his own. "Go on."

With a tight smile Kurt got up and pushed Finn out of the room. As soon as they were out of earshot of their parents, Kurt rounded on him.

"You know exactly what your _teammates_ did earlier, don't you." Kurt growled, jabbing a finger into Finn's chest. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?! Where were you?!"

"I didn't know!" Finn protested. "Kurt, come on, man, I didn't know!"

"Do you have any idea how long it took before Blaine would stop shaking?" Kurt hissed. "These assholes from his old school locked him in a closet and left him there for almost a _day_ before the police found him! And you just stood by and let them _lock him up_?!" Finn gestured anxiously towards the kitchen and Kurt dropped his voice with a glare. "Finn!"

Finn's eyes widened guiltily. "I didn't know they'd do that to him!" He cried.

"_Right_, just like how you _didn't know_ that time when your teammates nailed all my lawn furniture to the roof? Or the time when they threw the fucking pee balloons at me?" Kurt said dryly.

"Wait; that was you?" Finn looked confused.

"Finn!"

"Kurt, I didn't know they were gonna do that! It was just a joke!" Finn spread his arms out helplessly. "It didn't mean anything; it was just a stupid joke!"

"That _joke_ nearly sent Blaine into a panic attack!" Kurt exploded. "I don't get what you have against Blaine, but you get those fucking assholes _off_ his back; I don't care _how_ much your stupid popularity means to you!"

Finn's expression darkened. "I can't, what am I supposed to tell them? I already get enough shit for just being in Glee, I can't do anything else to help him!"

Kurt barely resisted punching Finn's face. Barely. Stepping into Finn's personal space, Kurt dropped his voice into a dangerous tone. "You've already fucked this up with me. Don't let Blaine get hurt to protect your goddamn ego."

Kurt shoved Finn out of his way before he did something stupid like strangle Finn. He grabbed his leather jacket on the storm out. "And will you _please_ stop flirting with Quinn while you're dating Rachel; Quinn will not quit bitching to me about it!" Kurt shot over his shoulder before slamming the door.

God, this was frustrating.


	7. Chapter 7

**Relationship: **Klaine  
**Rating: **R (mostly for language)  
**Word Count:** 6,552/39,000+ so far  
**Warnings: **swearing, intense homophobic language, violence, angst  
**Summary: **Skank!Kurt, Nerd!Blaine AU in season 2/3. Cause everyone has to have one, right?

**Author's Note- **_Don't look at me. I don't even know how i finished this so fast. Hope this tides you over until the next chapter!_

_Song used - Falling Slowly from the musical Once._

* * *

Another full week passed before Blaine brought it up. They were in Kurt's backyard, sitting on the patio with coats and scarves protecting them from the cold November air. Kurt was enjoying a smoke and Blaine was still nursing a cup of coffee Kurt bought him when he shifted and glanced at Kurt guiltily.

"I really want you to come," Blaine said in that pitiful voice that Kurt couldn't say 'no' to. The sneaky bastard even added the puppy dog eyes, made extra potent by the new contacts he got after the jocks broke his glasses with a well-aimed trip during lunch. Only Blaine's tight grip on his jacket had kept Kurt from committing murder in front of the entire school.

Mysteriously, Azimio's flashy sports car had its tires slashed and the word 'DOUCHEBAG' scratched into the hood by the end of that day. Kurt hadn't known anything about that vandalism, as he told Blaine with a straight face. Blaine didn't seem to believe him, but Kurt saw his hidden smile. He couldn't resist the burst of pride in his chest after that.

But, while Kurt would do almost anything for Blaine, this was not one of them.

"No." Kurt took a deep drag on his cigarette, frowning when Blaine plucked it out from between his fingers and stubbed it out. "Seriously, Blaine?" Kurt glared.

"They aren't good for you," Blaine replied stubbornly. "But come _on_, Kurt, please come to Glee!"

Back to the start.

"I don't _want _to." Kurt groaned. "Like, I don't know how else to tell you that _I have no desire to go_."

Blaine visibly deflated and Kurt almost changed his mind, except _no_.

"But…" Blaine began helplessly. "For me?" he tried, smiling crookedly.

Kurt fixed him with another glare. "Can't you just sing the damn song to me later? Like, when we're alone or something?" _And not near Karofsky, _Kurt added silently. The jock was still dodging Kurt at every chance, obviously terrified that Kurt was going to kick his ass for the closet incident. Kurt was still biding his time.

Blaine shook his head. "But it's not the same!" he insisted. "Come on, Kurt, you can't avoid them forever!'

"I can certainly try," Kurt muttered under his breath.

"_Kurt_."

"Your loafers and ankle-baring pants do not intimidate me," Kurt said, unimpressed with Blaine's pleading.

Blaine shot him a grumpy glare, but sighed. He sipped his coffee, practically radiating disappointment.

_Fuck_. Kurt drew his legs up to his chest, rubbing his shins for some warmth. Leather jackets may look badass and all, but they were not made for Ohio winters. Next to him, Blaine drained the last of his coffee and shivered.

"I have to get going," he said, grimacing. "Family dinner."

Kurt nodded in sympathy. Blaine's parents weren't bad people; not really; but they weren't exactly _parental_. They took the route of buying Blaine anything he asked for rather than actually spending time with him. Once in a while, Blaine's mom would decide that they should eat dinner together, but it was always awkward and hurried and full of pointed hints about how performance was not a way to make a living. Blaine told him last week about how, even though he'd gotten a solo at Sectionals, his mother was going to a business dinner that night instead. His dad was going to be in Europe, meeting with some client.

They didn't have time for their son and didn't care enough to make some. And now, Kurt wasn't even going to listen to him sing in Glee, even though he had literally _nothing _better to do. He was such a shitty friend and familiar guilt stabbed him in the chest. Fucking hell.

"When are you performing?" Kurt asked reluctantly, almost smiling at Blaine's unbelievably wide grin. He was definitely going to regret this.

* * *

There was no other way to describe Glee except for _awkward_.

Finn still couldn't look at Kurt without getting a gassy infant expression that Santana informed him meant Finn felt guilty (Kurt was pleased) and Karofsky slunk down in his chair like he'd turn invisible if Kurt glanced at him. Add in Santana cracking a gay joke every five seconds and Rachel bitching about Sectionals or Quinn and Kurt was ready to scream before Tina was even done her song. But he'd promised Blaine, so Kurt parked his ass in a chair and resolutely sat through half of the club performances with minimal griping. He refused to talk to anyone except for Blaine, much to Mr. Schue's annoyance. He noticed Quinn and Puck had rejoined, though they were hiding in the back. Fickle bastards.

"The theme was to take a song from a musical and relate it to our lives," Blaine whispered to Kurt as Rachel belted out _As Long As You're_ _Mine_ to Finn. Most of the club members followed the general idea, though Finn's choice of _Children of the Revolution _from _Moulin Rouge!_ because "it sounded cool and is totally badass" had Mr. Schue wincing in pain. Kurt also reluctantly enjoyed Santana and Brittany's rendition of _And All That Jazz_.

And then it was Blaine's turn. Surprisingly, Blaine looked nervous as he stood up with a quick squeeze of Kurt's hand. He walked over to the band, where one of the members gave up his guitar. Kurt sat up straight, frowning. Even after knowing him for almost three months, Kurt hadn't heard Blaine play. There was an old guitar in Blaine's room, but he'd never touched it in front of Kurt. After sliding the strap over his head and adjusting the guitar so it sat right, Blaine dragged a stool to the center of the room along with a mike stand. The choir room quieted in face of his preparations.

Glancing around, Kurt saw a mix of expressions on the club's faces. Rachel kept shooting him excited looks and grinning, but Karofsky looked apprehensive and nervous for some reason. Kurt frowned even more, the apprehensive feeling in his chest growing, and crossed his arms. He fixed his attention back on his friend. Blaine was on the stool with the guitar across his lap and finally had the mike where he wanted.

"Hey," he started, smiling shakily. "Um, so this is a song that I've really connected with recently so I thought I'd share it with all of you. It's usually sort of a duet, so bear with me and feel free to join in on the later verses, okay?" His eyes flickered to Kurt during his speech and Kurt felt his cheeks heat slightly. "This song is called _Falling Slowly_ from the musical _Once_."

Kurt suddenly felt all of the air rush out from his lungs. They'd talked about this song a few weeks ago after Blaine got Kurt to admit that he liked musicals and pried out his favorite songs. Though it sounded more like a radio single than a Broadway showstopper, the simple tune had always resonated with Kurt and he'd secretly saved three different versions on his iPod. Blaine thought it was adorable, and had _looked _at Kurt, but there was no way Blaine was singing _to_ him now. None. It was probably a secret love song to the newest addition to Glee, Sam Evans. Now there was a head of dyed blond hair if Kurt ever saw one. Kurt had given up on Blaine _weeks _ago; now he was just trying to get over his stupid crush and this was so completely not helping. He wasn't good for Blaine; Kurt knew that; Blaine deserved so much better and everyone knew it. He glanced at Quinn for help but she just winked at him and wound her arm around Sam's in a pointed gesture. Kurt glared at her. Useless.

Then, Blaine started picking out the tune and _smiling_ at Kurt and Kurt could only watch and hold his breath and hope.

"_I don't know you, but I want you, all the more for that,"_ Blaine began, his voice a perfect blend of sultry and sweet.

Kurt kept his eyes trained on Blaine, torn between blushing, giggling like a schoolgirl, and bolting from the room. But Blaine sang on, and Kurt could just _tell_ he was singing with passion and honesty and it was fucking terrifying. He chanced another look at the rest of the kids. Rachel was still grinning widely and Santana even had a wistful smile, but Karofsky…

His blood ran cold as Blaine slipped into the chorus.

Karofsky looked fucking _enthralled_. And not with Blaine. Karofsky stared back at Kurt and Kurt's skin crawled at the implications. It was hungry and longing and regretful and Kurt's heart pounded because he knew that look; knew how dangerous it was.

Swallowing his sudden unease, Kurt forced himself to focus on Blaine; to pay attention to his voice, which was perfect for this song.

"_You have suffered enough, and warred with yourself, it's time that you've won,"_ Blaine seemed to give Kurt a significant look as he sang. Kurt tensed, but he didn't break eye contact.

Naturally, Rachel couldn't keep quiet for her life and some of the club joined in with the band to provide back-up vocals. Kurt blinked out of his trance, but couldn't help approving of the support Blaine got. God knew he wasn't getting any elsewhere. The song rose to a crescendo and then fell, stripped to just Blaine and the guitar again.

"_Falling slowly, sing your melody, I'll sing it loud…"_ Blaine's voice rose and fell smoothly and Kurt was gone as Blaine finished the last few chords. As the music trailed off, Blaine glanced up with a shy smile.

Kurt was so fucking screwed and sort of freaking out because _Blaine liked him!_ and was also pretty fucking confused since the last time he'd try to kiss Blaine, he'd wound up on the floor with a black and blue elbow and flat-out rejection. Everyone was staring at him now, with knowing looks and smirks, and in Karofsky's case, jealousy, and Kurt had never gotten used to that sort of scrutiny. But the last thing he needed was to faint in front of all of these assholes, so Kurt forced himself to inhale and release a shuddery breath.

Blaine handed off his guitar to one of the band members and moved to stand in front of Kurt. He looked up cautiously and Kurt took the moment to really _glare_ because _seriously?_ A little warning may have been nice. Springing this kind of shit on someone only worked in chick flicks and Kurt wasn't Ione Skye. But he couldn't completely hide a smile because what the hell, a cute guy had literally professed his love to Kurt via song. This was his life.

"I think we should talk," Blaine says, having the grace to smile sheepishly.

"Damn right," Kurt replied. He stood up and pushed Blaine to the door, ignoring the catcalls and whoops from the rest of the club. They didn't know shit and he definitely didn't need that look of jealousy on Karofsky's face following him.

* * *

"You can do better," was the first thing Kurt said the second he and Blaine reached the bleachers.

Blaine furrowed his brows. "Isn't that a Say Anything song?" he asked, smirking. He looked pretty proud of himself for actually listening to the CDs Kurt constantly threw at him, the little shit.

Kurt didn't reply, but shot Blaine a look that clearly said _not amused._ Blaine winced.

"I mean," Kurt tried again through gritted teeth as he sat on the lowest row of metal seats, "You don't deserve to be stuck with me. You have…others." Shit, he was blushing again. Kurt quickly scowled at the practicing Cheerios. Coach Sue was screaming at the girls through a microphone, reminding Kurt why did not miss those days.

Plus, _polyester_.

Frowning, Blaine sat next to him but left some space between them. "You're the only other out guy at our school, though," Blaine said, confused. And _ow._ Seriously?

"You know, surprisingly," Kurt started sardonically, "That? Really not making me feel better about this." Just because he didn't want to think about Blaine being with some other guy that wasn't Kurt felt like a knife gouging out his heart didn't mean he was alright with being considered a last resort.

Blaine groaned and dropped his head in his hands. "That came out wrong," he said, muffled.

"Mmm, I imagine it did."

"I didn't mean it like you're my only option to not be a virgin until I go to college," Blaine said firmly. "Because you're not."

"Still not helping, Anderson." Kurt raised his eyebrow in amusement. Watching Blaine get all flustered was fun, sue him.

"_Kurt!_" Blaine pleaded in embarrassment. "Come on, you know what I mean!"

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Kurt ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to figure out the best way to word everything. Karofsky wasn't over last year; that must was obvious, but Kurt was a little worried about how far the jock would go to use Blaine to get to him. Scratch that, he was _really_ worried.

And Blaine kept insisting there was nothing wrong with him and persisted in putting himself in bad situations with Karofsky where Kurt couldn't protect him. Karofsky was ruthless and if he thought Blaine was moving in on Kurt or even that there was a chance that Kurt would respond…well. Kurt had dealt with Karofsky's jealous streak first hand he'd rather that Blaine never found out.

Add that to the fact that Blaine had decided that Kurt was finally _worthy_ of him or some shit even though Kurt's useless and ruins everything he touches; Kurt was pretty goddamn fed up with the world at the moment. He doesn't deserve Blaine and he won't be the one to ruin him.

Now he just had to convince Blaine of that fact.

"I'm flattered," Kurt said, keeping his face blank, "But I'm not dating you."

Blaine's face fell so quickly that Kurt's heart screamed at him to take it back. But life sucked and Kurt's head kicked in.

"You had your chance weeks ago. I'm not interested." Kurt pretended it sounded like the truth. But Blaine just narrowed his eyes suspiciously and frowned. "Blaine, I'm serious, _drop it _or I'm gone." Kurt glared back, willing Blaine to listen to him just once. He doesn't need to believe it so long as Blaine stays the hell away from him and Karofsky. Kurt could live with that.

"I don't know why you don't think you deserve to be happy," Blaine said, standing up and looking at Kurt with unreadable expression. "But I'm pretty sure it's for a dumb reason." Kurt flinched at his bluntness.

Blaine sighed and grabbed his bag, turning on his heel to walk away. He took a few steps before turning around. "It's okay. I'll wait." Blaine smiled, confident and bright.

Shit. "Blaine…" Kurt had no idea how to respond to that because he'd never be ready. He wasn't boyfriend material and he couldn't give Blaine what he wanted and Blaine shouldn't _wait_ for him. He couldn't make himself say anything so he just looked at Blaine.

"Told you before, I don't like ultimatums, Hummel," Blaine, the little fucker, _winked_. Kurt let out a huff of laughter as Blaine turned around again. He was so completely fucked and somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care right then.

He needed to come up with a plan to keep Karofsky off their backs, though.

* * *

"If I tell you something, do you promise not to freak out?" Blaine asked a few days later while Kurt was working late in the garage.

Kurt stopped tinkering with the minivan in front of him and frowned at his phone. His dad was in the back working on the books and the other mechanics had gone home, but Blaine seemed too on edge to be comfortable with their conversation being so open.

"Hold on a sec," Kurt said, quickly wiping the grease off of hands with an oily rag. He grabbed his phone and switched it off speaker mode and, with a quick glance at the closed office door, moved towards the front of the garage. "What's going on?" Kurt asked suspiciously, holding his phone to his ear with a tight grip.

"Um," he heard Blaine shifting on the other end of the line. "I'm so serious; you _cannot_ freak out," Blaine pleaded.

Kurt frowned even more at Blaine's distressed tone. "Blaine." He said warningly.

After groaning, Blaine fell silent. "Well, I had Glee after school today…"

"I know," Kurt glared at a passing car. He already knew he wasn't going to like where this was going.

"Well, I needed a ride home. And, um…"

"Tell me it wasn't Karofsky." Kurt felt himself paling. "Blaine. _Tell me."_

Blaine groaned in his ear. "He offered! What was I supposed to do?"

"Say 'fuck, no' and call me!" Kurt shouted, startling a woman walking a stroller on the other side of the street. She shot him a worried glance and sped up, heels clacking on the concrete sidewalk. Kurt took a deep breath and released it, trying to relax himself. It didn't work and Kurt stayed pissed, and scared, and angry, and _fuck everything_, Blaine still deserved to get yelled at for being a goddamn moron. "I told you not to go with him _alone_, Blaine, I told you! You should have _fucking_ called me!"

"Well, I didn't," Blaine said sullenly.

There was a long, awkward pause, and Kurt rubbed his temple. A headache was threatening, but hopefully it would hold off long enough for Kurt to kick someone's ass. Whether it was Blaine's or Karofsky's remained to be seen.

"Did he do something." Kurt glared at the ground.

Blaine snorted. "You know, when you get really angry, your questions actually become statements. It's a really unique skill."

"Blaine!" Kurt tried not to stomp on the ground out of sheer anger because he was not a child, dammit.

"Fine, fine," Blaine muttered irritably. After another long moment, he sighed. "He may have, um. He kissed me."

The air rushed out of Kurt's lungs and blood pounded in his ears. "_What."_ Kurt whispered harshly, trying to force himself to actually _breathe_. But memories pressed in on his mind heavily, insisting that Kurt relive last year over and over and over and the phone nearly slipped out his suddenly clammy and sweaty grasp.

Blaine didn't seem to notice that Kurt was on the verge of completely flipping out, though, and kept talking. "Kurt, I'm so serious right now, you _cannot_ tell him I told you. You can't, he's not even out yet, but I'm worried about him and I'd really like if you could help me—"

"Did he do anything else." Kurt interrupted, ignoring Blaine's rambling.

"What?" Blaine sounded confused and Kurt nearly screamed at how fucking naïve Blaine could be.

"Did he. Do. Anything. Else." Kurt spit out through gritted teeth. Dimly, he realized that his free hand had shifted into a tight fist and he forced his fingers to relax enough to stop digging his nails into his palm.

He could feel Blaine's confusion over the phone, but Kurt didn't particularly care. Right after he killed Karofsky for _daring_ to touch Blaine, he was going to kick Blaine's ass for _not fucking listening._

"No, no, I'm fine, Kurt, I'm fine; it was just a kiss," Blaine said hurriedly. "It was just a kiss, okay?"

Kurt knew better than anyone that the words "just a kiss" could mean anything. "If you're lying…" Kurt threatened, trailing off ominously. Shit, he still couldn't get his lungs unfrozen and last year kept pressing on his and Kurt had a brief moment of panic where he was either going to punch a brick wall or burst into tears. Neither sounded pleasant.

"Kurt, I'm okay," Blaine said softly. "He just drove me to my house and we sat outside for a few minutes and he looked really upset so I asked him what was wrong and he just leaned over and…" Kurt could practically hear Blaine shrugging helplessly. "He kissed me. It lasted like two seconds and he pulled back like, right away, and started freaking out about what his parents would think, so I promised him that I wouldn't say anything, and then he told me to get out so I did and then I called you."

"Well. You suck at promises," Kurt said, not completely able to stop trembling with anger.

Blaine sighed loudly. "Whatever. I'm worried about him. If you'd seen his face, how scared he was that someone was going to find out and how much he looked like he hated himself, you'd lay off him too," Blaine insisted. A pause. "Wait, are you jealous?" Blaine asked, because he had no idea how the world worked.

Kurt scoffed because _not fucking likely._ "You're a fucking idiot." Kurt viciously kicked a pebble down the street, pretending that it was Karofsky's overreaching, creeper head. He should have known the jock would go back to his old tricks even after everything that went down. "Why the hell did you _ignore_ me? I told you to stay away from him!"

Something seemed to occur to Blaine, though. "Why aren't you surprised that Karofsky's…?" Blaine's voice took on a dread-filled tone and seriously, _no_. Kurt wasn't going there. Not today.

"You're not finishing that thought." Kurt snarled, heart suddenly pounding.

"Why are you so scared of him being around me?" Blaine's voice was still low and worried. "He did something to you, didn't he? I wasn't jumping to conclusions before."

"Shut the fuck up, Blaine," Kurt snapped and hung up before Blaine could say anything. He closed his eyes and held his breath, trying to _calm the fuck down_ and the slow his heart rate before he passed out.

Shit, why couldn't Blaine just _listen_?

"Kurt?"

Jumping, Kurt whirled around to see his dad poking his head out the garage with a frown on his face. "Yeah, Dad?" Kurt was proud of the way his voice came out level.

Burt looked suspicious. "Everything okay, kiddo? I heard shouting."

"Yeah, everything's fine," Kurt said, forcing his lips into a smile.

Though he nodded, Kurt could tell his dad was still wary. Kurt worked on keeping himself together and calm. He couldn't afford for his dad to find out about everything now. Burt had been so good about dealing with his only son being gay and then his attitude change and the healthy diet; Kurt couldn't ruin it now. But taking on the world was fucking hard sometimes, and Kurt felt his smile slip as his dad walked back inside.

He really missed his mom.

* * *

On some deeper level, Kurt knew confronting Karosky alone was a bad idea. But a much larger part of him was too furious to care and besides, Karofsky was doing his best to dodge Kurt during the school day anyway. So when he found Karofsky walking to Glee after school the next day, Kurt may have grabbed him by his stupid letterman jacket and slammed him into the wall a little harder than necessary. It was only the element of surprise that let him do so.

"What the _hell_ did you think I meant by 'leave him the fuck alone'?!" Kurt shouted into Karofsky's surprised face. He pinned the jock with his arms, pressing in firmly. "_Answer me!"_

"So the little bitch told you, huh?" Karofsky's mouth curled up in a sneer. "Fucking typical."

Kurt punched him in the jaw, relishing Karofsky's pain-filled cry and the smear of red on his knuckles. "Shut the _fuck_ up, you bastard," Kurt snarled, holding his bloodied fist near Karofsky's face. "Blaine's a thousand times more of a man than you'll _ever _be."

Karofsky eyed Kurt's fist and let out a strange laugh. "You really like that fairy, don't you?" His eyes narrowed and Kurt saw his face flicker through fury and jealousy. "He's awful at kissing, you know. Too much _enthusiasm_. Little bitch was starving for it!" He grinned triumphantly when Kurt hit his jaw again. His teeth were red with blood and he spat to the side. "Thought you were gay, Hummel, what's with the lady, huh?"

"One more word about Blaine and I tell the entire school," Kurt snarled, almost choking on his rage. He pressed his weight forward, holding Karofsky against the wall. "_Everyone_ will know about you and what you really are." His blood pounded in his ears and Kurt's breaths came in heavy as he fought to stay calm.

Karofsky's eyes widened fearfully at first before falling back into his trademark anger. "I dare you, Hummel," Karofsky spat another mouthful of blood on the floor. His cheek was starting to swell, Kurt noticed. Karofsky wasn't done. "_No one_ is going to believe a jealous, skanky, slut _like you._" His chest rose and fell with every deep breath and Kurt was vaguely aware of approaching footsteps and a gathering crowded.

"I am _not_ a slut," Kurt growled, pushing Karofsky against the wall. He didn't care how much Blaine liked this asshole; Karofsky was going to learn a few lessons.

Smirking, Karofsky jutted his chin towards the students behind Kurt. He kept his voice pitched low enough that only Kurt heard, but still. "They think so. I _know _so." Karofsky leaned in so his hot breath washed over Kurt face. "Don't think I've forgotten every single time you _begged—"_

Kurt's vision went red and he drew back a fist to fucking _kill_ him when someone gasped and a pair of hands grabbed his arm and someone else grabbed his waist and dragged him away. Karofsky kept that stupid confident smirk all over his fucking face as Kurt was pulled off of him, enraging Kurt even further.

"FUCKING LET ME GO!" Kurt roared, fighting his restrainers and elbowing the guy clutching his arm in the face. The kid dropped Kurt with a grunt of pain. "I'M GOING TO FUCKING _KILL_ THAT FUCKING BASTARD!" The moron who had his waist swore and struggled to hold him back, earning a few choice bruises to his shins.

Karofsky stepped forward and managed to get one good punch to Kurt's cheek before Finn stepped up and grabbed Karofsky's arms. He looked miserable and scared, but he nodded to whoever still had Kurt's middle and pulled Karofsky back a few inches. Kurt let out another primal growl and redoubled his efforts to break Puck's grip.

"Jesus, Kurt, _knock it off!"_ Puck hissed in his ear after Kurt almost got free, moving to pin Kurt's flying arms to his sides. "You're going to get _expelled_ if you keep this shit up when a teacher shows up; stop!" He grimaced when Kurt's elbow caught his side.

"Puck, hold on to him!" Quinn shouted over the fighting.

"I'm _trying!"_ Puck yelled back, nearly getting hit in the balls by Kurt. "_Fuck_!"

Kurt barely heard him over the cruel laughing from Karofsky, and tried to fling Puck off. He growled in frustration when Puck stubbornly held on. "I don't _fucking_ care; he's going to _die_, just _let me go!"_

"Kurt, you have to calm down, please, just calm down!" Kurt stopped trying to take Puck's arms off at Blaine's thick voice, turning his head to see Blaine leaning heavily on Quinn and clutching his cardigan to his nose. Rachel held up his other side and shot Kurt a warning look. For a long moment, Kurt stared at Blaine and his bloodied nose, guilt competing with fury in his chest and his cheek throbbing. Puck still held him around his chest, seemingly afraid to let him go, and the rest of the Glee club stared with open mouths. Slowly, Kurt's breathing slowed and his heart stopped pounding so loudly.

He still wanted to kick the shit out of Karofsky, though.

Tina was the first to speak up.

"Okay, so I think it's safe to say that no one here wants Mr. Schue to know about this, right?" she looked around as everyone but Kurt and Karofsky nodded. Kurt ignored her in favor of glaring death at Karofsky. Tina rolled her eyes. "Here's what we're going to do. Blaine obviously can't sing today right?" She raised her eyebrow at Blaine's rapidly reddening sweater still pressed against his face. Blaine shook his head, twisting the guilty knife in Kurt's heart even further. "So, Kurt should drive him home." She looked at Kurt expectantly.

Holding himself carefully stiff, Kurt moved his glare towards her. "I have some unfinished business," he said icily. This shit just turned personal.

Unmoved, Tina gestured at Blaine. "You really want to make him drive himself home while bleeding his brain out?" She confronted Kurt, crossing her arms.

Kurt shook off Puck with a scowl. "I liked you better when you stuttered," he muttered. Tina scoffed, but Kurt straightened his jacket instead of answering and turned to Blaine. The poor kid was still flanked by Rachel and Quinn and the cardigan hadn't moved. Blaine skin looked pale, though Kurt couldn't tell if it was from fear or blood loss. Either way, this was, as usual, Kurt's fault. "Shit," Kurt rubbed at his face, wincing when he touched the raw bruise just below his eye.

"You look like a raccoon," Brittany pointed out helpfully.

Kurt grunted in response and head towards Blaine. He had to fix this somehow, but it would be really nice if everyone stopped staring in the meantime. Artie wordlessly held out a handkerchief, which Kurt snatched with a muttered thanks. He waited for Blaine to move the balled up cardigan and sighed. Blaine's nose and chin were soaked, but it looked like the bleeding had died down. Kurt began wiping at the dried blood as gently as he could, finally giving up as not much came off with the dry cloth. Instead, he handed off the handkerchief to Blaine, who resumed pressing it against his nose. They started to leave the impromptu circle when Karofsky scoffed loudly. Kurt turned around, jaw clenched.

"You just walkin' away, huh?" Karofsky chose then to speak up, shoving at Finn. He barked out a cold laugh and spread his arms wide. "Just gonna leave like a fucking coward? Come on, whore, show me what you got!" Karosfky challenged, eyes cold.

Chaos erupted as Kurt launched himself at the fucking asshole without a second thought, but Puck grabbed him around his chest amid the shouts from the rest of the club and dragged him out of the crowd. Struggling, Kurt let out a few violent curses, relishing Karofsky screaming back while both Finn and Santana kept him from attacking. Blaine followed after Puck, wincing every few steps and glancing back worriedly.

"Hope he's worth it, _slut!"_ Karofsky howled as Finn wrapped him up in a restraining hug. "Bet you just spread you legs for him just like you do for _all_ the pretty boys in town!" His bloody teeth looked terrifying as he laughed, long and harsh. Kurt let out a shriek and clawed at the air in front of him, but Puck wouldn't let him go kill the goddamn asshole.

"I'm gonna kill him!" Kurt fought the tight grip around his chest and struggled to get his feet back under him for leverage. Puck was on to him, though, and walked Kurt backwards too fast to let Kurt get his balance. It only served to piss Kurt off further. "You _shithead_, lemme go! That fucker is getting his ass _murdered—"_

"Kurt, shut up," Blaine said sharply, stepping into Kurt's view as Puck pulled them through the doors. He helped Puck steady Kurt down the stairs, but stepped back when Puck slammed Kurt against the stair railing.

Karofsky was _still_ yelling, Kurt heard it even through the doors, and he made another last-ditch effort to get away from Puck, but Puck pinned him, holding him in a weird bear hug against the wall that effectively trapped Kurt. He'd been working out, Kurt realized as he tried to push his friend away. He wasn't going to get away and it _hurt_.

"Let me _go_," Kurt practically growled, closer to tears than he'd ever admit. He just wanted to do something right for once, and while he knew he deserved a lot of shit, being called _that_ by Karofsky? That wasn't one of them. "Puck! Let me go!" Kurt wasn't exactly proud of way he almost whined, but he did see a twinge of guilt on his best friend's face and Kurt just wanted to _hurt_.

"Can't do that, buddy," Puck said grimly, exchanging a glance with Blaine. "You wanna graduate and get out of here, remember? Can't do that behind bars."

"_Please_, Puck," Kurt pushed against Puck's unmoving arms futilely, frustrated tears leaking from his eyes. "_Please_."

"Come on, man, chill out," Puck cajoled, catching Kurt's eyes. He breathed in and out with exaggerated slowness until Kurt followed suit, never once breaking eye contact. "Karofsky's a little shit, but you're better than him. You can do this, just let it go." Puck's tone was low and soothing, but Kurt was already shaking his head.

Something twisted inside Kurt and he realized he was talking, explaining himself too fast and tripping over his words and a small part of Kurt felt some relief at getting a tiny portion of his shit out, but a larger part hated himself for being so weak.

"He was saying things. About—about Blaine, about _me_. And—and they're not true, Puck, _they aren't true_ and no one gets it; no one understands and I just—I can't, okay? I _can't—"_

"I know Kurt, I know—" Puck tried to console him, letting his arms relax into more of an actual embrace and Kurt felt his hands fist in Puck's shirt as he buried his face in Puck's neck. He _wasn't_ sobbing, though, it was just hard to breathe.

"It's not _fair_, nobody knows and—and—" Kurt got out between gulping breaths. "_No one_ knows and—and I _can't_—"

Blaine stepped forward. "Kurt, take me home," Blaine said softly. Kurt stiffened at the realization that someone else heard his stupid and pathetic word vomit. And of course it was Blaine, because the world was one big cosmic joke on Kurt. Awesome.

Glaring at Blaine's stupid, pity-filled hazel eyes and the red handkerchief back against his nose, Kurt shoved at Puck, who let him go. Sniffing wetly, Kurt scrubbed his face, trying to wipe away the few tears still tricking down. Puck and Blaine watched him, like Kurt was a caged rabid animal that would turn around and bite them if given the chance. It didn't feel too far off. Kurt's hands were shaking, Kurt realized, and he wrapped them around himself and forced his lungs to inhale.

He had to get Blaine home. That was important.

"Come on," Kurt said hoarsely, beckoning for Blaine to follow him. He turned and started for his car but Puck stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, man," Puck pushed Kurt's arm until they faced each other. "After you get Anderson cleaned up. Call me." _I'm worried about you_, his eyes screamed, and Kurt looked away.

"Okay," Kurt lied, whispering. He shook off Puck's hand and kept walking. Blaine followed without a word.

* * *

Kurt drove.

He didn't pay attention to the street signs beyond the stop signs and traffic lights and just kept going, past the town limits and into the countryside. Blaine never stopped him, though he found the wet wipes in Kurt's glove compartment and cleaned himself up.

Numbly, Kurt realized he was heading towards a small park his mom used to take him to before she got sick. He turned off the major road onto a dirt pathway, slowing to a crawl. His hands were clenched around the wheel and Kurt didn't relax until they were a few miles into the woods and overlooking a barren field.

It wasn't much to look at, but Kurt remembered warm afternoons spent with picnics and tea parties and kites and family.

His mother would hate what he'd become, Kurt thought, and a wounded noise hit the back of his throat.

It seemed to be the catalyst for Blaine.

"What happened today. It goes back further than what I told you yesterday, doesn't it?" Blaine phrased it like a question, but Kurt was under no illusions. Blaine just wanted confirmations. So Kurt nodded jerkily, locking eyes with the horizon.

"I used to come here with my mom," Kurt said. "In the spring, there're flowers. I'd pick them for her and she taught me how to make a crown." Though his voice was steady, Kurt felt wetness slide down his cheek and he wiped it away.

Blaine gave him a moment to collect himself. "Thank you for taking me here. It means a lot that you trust me like this," he said, smiling. Thankfully, he didn't touch Kurt like he usually would, with a comforting hand on Kurt's knee or arm or shoulder, and Kurt was grateful. He was too naked, too _raw_ for anything like that.

Struggling not to say anything cliché, Kurt side-eyed Blaine. The bleeding had stopped and wipes had helped clean up most of the flaky blood, but Blaine's nose was starting to turn a colorful mix of blue and purple and parts had started to swell. Kurt cringed internally.

"I'm sorry for…you know…"

Blaine waved it away. "It's okay," he grinned. "Besides, aren't you the one that told me hideous bruises are sexy?" He wiggled his ridiculous eyebrows and Kurt let out a huff of genuine laughter. Blaine relaxed a little, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning back, watching a lone deer cross the empty field. She eyed the car nervously, but picked her way through the grass steadily.

"I heard some of what he said," Blaine admitted into the quiet. He bit his lip and looked at Kurt. "I didn't think he was so…vindictive. I should have done something."

Kurt just looked back tiredly. He was exhausted and his cheek stung and his heart felt like someone had taken a knife and stabbed him and then twisted the blade just for shits and giggles. Hearing Blaine dance around the words _you were right_ should be amazing, but Kurt was just drained.

"Tina texted while you were driving, by the way, she said Karofsky was trying to get you in trouble but everyone in the club swore he ran into the wall himself. Mr. Schue didn't believe him." Blaine fiddled with his phone and sighed. "God, what a mess," he muttered, settling back into comfortable silence.

Watching Blaine wait patiently, occasionally prodding his bruised face with a grimace, Kurt thought. It was no use waiting, the truth was always going to come out at some point. Hiding wasn't an option, not from his best friend.

And yeah, maybe his walls were lowered by exhaustion and fatigue, but Kurt was done with being scared.

"I'm ready to tell you about last year," Kurt whispered, crossing his arms against his chest. Blaine stared at him with wide eyes, but seemed to talk himself into calming down as his answer was steady and even.

"Okay."


	8. Chapter 8

**Relationship: **Klaine  
**Rating: **R (mostly for language)  
**Word Count:** 6,410/45,000+ so far  
**Warnings: **swearing, intense homophobic language, violence, angst, talk of sex  
**Summary: **Skank!Kurt, Nerd!Blaine AU in season 2/3. Cause everyone has to have one, right?

_A/N - Um. I hope this lives up to your expectations. There's probably only a few chapters left now._

* * *

As the sun sank behind the trees, Kurt took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He still didn't look at Blaine. Pity was the last thing he needed.

Minutes dragged on, but Blaine stayed quiet, watching the sky deepen to a dark blue. Waiting for Kurt to work through his issues because Blaine was a good person, unlike Kurt. Kurt clenched his hands around the steering wheel. The air felt heavy and tense and a cold fist held Kurt's throat tight. He wanted to speak, he just didn't know _how_.

Then his phone started ringing, violently shattering the silence.

"Fuck," Kurt swore, fumbling for his phone and glaring at the screen. "_Fuck_. Hi, Dad."

Blaine watched expectantly as Kurt tried to placate his father.

"Dad, no—_Dad_! It's fine, Karofsky's a fucking asshole he's—Dad, come on...can we do this later? I promise I'll tell you the truth, but later…I'm with Blaine." Kurt glanced over at Blaine's calm gaze. He was so relaxed, it was kind of unnerving. Burt was talking in his ear, sounding scared and upset and angry. Groaning softly, Kurt let his head drop on the steering wheel. He hated blowing off his dad like this. Hell, he hated _disappointing_ his dad like this. "I'm going through some shit, okay?" Kurt finally interrupted. "I just…I need some time, okay? Can you just trust me? Just once?" It came out small and pleading and Kurt was pretty sure he couldn't be more naked short of actually stripping in the car. His throat closed up again and Kurt swallowed hard.

Burt sighed, long and defeated, hitting Kurt in the gut. "_When you get home. I wanna talk to you when you get home."_ He said stubbornly.

"Okay," Kurt whispered. He ended the call and stared at the black screen, trying to keep his breathing even and measured.

Blaine gave him a minute. "We can talk another day," he offered softly. "Or…we can forget it. I won't make you talk to me, I don't have that right, I know."

"But you want to know," Kurt said dully. Blaine was too fucking curious for his own good, Kurt knew.

Shifting guiltily, Blaine nodded. "Well…yeah. I want to know 'cause you're so upset about this. I want to help you."

He sounded so fucking sincere too. Kurt dragged tired eyes over Blaine's pleading expression. "Like you wanted to help Karofsky, right?" Kurt said, bitterly. He flinched as Blaine's expression clouded.

"That's not fair, Kurt," Blaine said, hurt. He faced forward, slouching against the seatback.

"I know," Kurt muttered, mentally kicking himself. They fell back into silence.

This was a onetime thing, Kurt knew. He'd never make himself talk if he didn't do it now, but the weight of all of his secrets, some not even _his_, felt like they were crushing him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, and he was still so _scared_ with the words _I'll fucking kill you_ bouncing around in his head.

But this was Blaine. _Blaine_. And really, if Kurt was honest, he knew Blaine's intentions were good. And he was just so tired.

"I slept with him." Kurt said frankly, looking out the window when Blaine whipped his head around with wide eyes.

"You…"

"I let him fuck me. A lot." Kurt closed his eyes briefly, even as he hated the words coming out of his mouth. How far back should he even go? But Kurt's mouth had already started. "Look, I wasn't ever going to be in the closet. Not like you; you know? By the time I got to middle school, everyone had already decided that I was gay. Nevermind that _I_ hadn't even explored that part of me or accepted it, to everyone I was _gay_ which meant I was preying on those troglodytes and staring at their cocks in the locker room and I liked taking it up the ass." Rage flowed through Kurt, but distantly. Blaine looked vaguely sick and Kurt snorted. It was only going to get worse, after all.

"Middle school was hell," Kurt continued, "And then I started high school and it got worse. And it was one person doing most of it."

"Dave?" Blaine guessed softly. He'd shifted in the seat to face Kurt completely with his legs folded. His fingers drummed on his knee nervously.

"Karofsky. Dave. Yeah." Kurt agreed. "He and his buddies were trying to prove shit to the upperclassmen or something and tormented me all of ninth grade. Sophomore year brought Glee and I thought maybe this year. Maybe this year, I'd get friends." Kurt shook his head. He'd been so stupidly naïve back then when he joined that damn club, tricked by promises of acceptance and belonging. It didn't last.

"And I did. For a little while. Then Dave stepped it up. Locker checks, dumpster tosses, swirlies, slushies. And no one noticed. Not my new friends, not my teachers. And I got so fed up one day that I snapped and followed him into the locker room and screamed at him." Kurt inhaled sharply, folding his arms across his chest to stop them from trembling. Blaine kept quiet, letting Kurt pick his way through the memories.

"I yelled about how he was just a scared little boy who was always going to be nothing. How he shouldn't be scared of me turning him gay and how he wasn't my type anyway. And then he kissed me." Kurt whispered. _Don't fucking cry, Hummel._

"Oh Kurt," Blaine breathed out.

"He tried a second time but I pushed him away and he ran." It sounded so stupidly simple when Kurt said it. Never mind how it was his first kiss or how he spent hours afterwards in the shower crying and feeling dirty and used. That didn't matter, not after what happened later. Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat and kept his expression as neutral as possible.

Blaine opened his mouth and closed it before trying again. "Like what he did to me. In the car?"

Kurt glanced over. "Yeah. Sort of." He clamped his mouth shut and glared at the dark trees outside.

"And that wasn't the end of it," Blaine said slowly, like he was trying to piece the story together.

Kurt snorted. "No. He got even more violent, to the point that Azimio actually stopped him a couple of times. He told me he'd kill me if I ever told anyone about him and I believed him, so I kept my mouth shut. I couldn't worry my dad any more than I already did; did you know he has a heart condition? He didn't need the extra stress. And then, Karofsky got me back in the locker room and offered me a deal.

"If I sucked him off once a week, he'd get the football team to lay off me."

Blaine let out a shocked whimper but cut it off. "He extorted _sex_ from—"

"Yeah," Kurt shrugged. "And it worked for a while, but then he stepped it up again. Said he needed _incentive_. So he fucked me in the boys' locker room." He didn't mention how he still had nightmares about that first time. No prep, no lube but spit, and bone-searing _pain_ like Kurt hadn't ever felt before. It wasn't a good experience and it was only Kurt finally doing research and practicing and preparing that made it better the next time. Kurt rubbed his face and let out a shuddery breath, carefully avoiding Blaine's expression.

"And you…let him?" Blaine said hesitantly. He looked dazed and horrified and Kurt bristled.

"I didn't exactly have a choice at that point, Anderson," Kurt growled. "He had a hundred pounds and a foot on me. And if I didn't? I was back to being beat up every other day and harassed during any spare moment, not to mention stressing my sick father out even more. No one gives a shit about you if you're gay in this town; you _know_ that. I was fucked either way, so I thought I might as well get some experience in the meantime. Besides, it's not like anyone was ever going to _want _me anyway." Kurt snapped his mouth shut, suddenly feeling like shit at the guilt mapped out all over Blaine's face.

"I'm sorry," Blaine whispered and Kurt just grunted. "Was…how long?" Blaine asked hesitantly.

Kurt glared at him before answering. "Couple months. He's…he's not a good person," Kurt whispered, shivering. "He got…strange. Unnerving."

Scary, creepy, terrifying; the synonyms were endless.

"He used to follow me." Kurt bit out. "Everywhere; he'd just be there all the time, looking and touching and I couldn't get away from him." Kurt's hands started shaking with remembered terror and he quickly crossed his arms to hide them. Blaine glanced down before focusing back on Kurt's face. It was too late to go back, though, so Kurt took a deep breath and glared at the non-judging steering wheel. "He gets…jealous."

"Jealous?" Blaine repeated.

Shaking his head, Kurt pressed a hand over his mouth as his stomach churned. "He's got all that guilt, you know? About wanting men, not women, and his family is kind of fucked up, but he's territorial, so he'd buy me things like I was his boyfriend and then he'd take me to Scandals to get me drunk enough to let him near me and he'd take it out on me when people ignored him and hit on the young twink with him." Kurt pressed his hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, gathering up courage for next part.

"He liked to hit me," Kurt whispered. "Mostly during sex, but not always. He got off on it and I think he thought I liked it. Not just, like spanking and shit, but actually punching me a few times, especially when I fucked something up. If I groaned too loud or snapped at him or wore something he thought was too revealing, shit like that."

The idea that Karofsky thought that was all _consensual_ came back and Kurt balled his hands into tight fists. A small, wounded noise came from Blaine's direction, but Kurt ignored it. He just had to get through this.

"I wound up with these bruises. So I started telling people I was in fights and wore more leather and yelled more often and that's when they started leaving me alone." Kurt shook his head.

"Oh, Kurt…" Blaine looked stricken and _there_ was that pity Kurt was trying to avoid.

"Anyway," Kurt said hurriedly, desperate to finish his stupid tale of woe sometime this year, "Once he actually hurt me. He was frustrated at Finn being the captain of the team or some shit so he texted me to come over. I usually had some warning so I could prep myself and stuff 'cause he hated waiting—" Blaine blushed adorably red "—but I couldn't this time."

Blaine's face drained of color.

Closing his eyes, Kurt hugged himself again. "He, um…he tore something. It hurt worse than the first time and I just kept bleeding and I was in so much pain that I freaked out. I was done, I was sick of being _used_ like that, and if he wanted to beat me up, it didn't matter. I couldn't possibly feel worse than I already did and honestly?" Kurt smiled derisively. "I'd already found out that people left me alone if they were scared of me and I'd started self-defense lessons by then. I was already different; no one in the Glee club had any idea why I changed my look and attitude, but it didn't matter because I didn't_ care._" Kurt looked down at his hands. "He wasn't alright with that." Kurt muttered.

Blaine nodded slowly. "And that was the epic Karofsky-Azimio-Hummel fight I keep hearing about?" he asked.

That fight. Kurt had to grin. "It was pretty fucking awesome. They were so surprised when I had them both on the floor and Karofsky had a sprained wrist."

"And then you became…" Blaine waved his hand at Kurt in a weird gesture. "And no one bothered you?"

Kurt snorted. "Once they knew I could legitimately beat them up, they stopped touching me. The rumors got worse and Karofsky probably started most of them, but they're just words. I'm not ashamed of what I've become. I may not have changed for _me_, but I like myself. I'm not hung up on stupid shit like love and acceptance and romance." Karofksy took care of that, with his twisted way of showing affection with harsh words and a firm fist.

Blaine shot him a weird look. "So Scandals and all of those rumors about you and guys…" He trailed off, blushing again.

"It's just sex, Blaine," Kurt said tiredly. "It does feel good when done right, y'know? When both people want it. And it's nice to be wanted sometimes, but it's also great for blackmail. Karofsky wasn't the only person I gave handjobs and blowjobs to last year; though he still doesn't know it." Kurt smirked to himself. Seriously, did Blaine honestly expect Karofsky to be able to get _all_ of the sports teams to leave him alone in the beginning? He was so clueless.

"But people call you…you know…" Blaine's cheeks turned red. "I-I don't think that, but people…"

There really wasn't a good answer for that, so Kurt sighed and tried to figure out how to word it. "Look, I know I have a reputation for being easy and all, but it's always my choice. Karofsky was the only one who forced me. And yeah, I hated myself for a while and it sucks that people think I'm a slut or a skank or whatever, but I'm not ashamed of liking sex when _I_ want it." He eyed Blaine. "Is that why you threw me off the first time I kissed you?" he asked.

Blaine shook his head, eyes wide. Then he bit his lip and nodded slowly. "Sort of? I mean, you were acting like that's all I wanted; like I just wanted to f-fuck and then kick you out and I didn't want it to be like that. I wanted it to mean something, you know?" Blaine's face turned miserable and guilty. "And… _andImmavirgin_." He said the last part in such a rush and blushed so hard that Kurt burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, _what?_ Can you slow that down?" Kurt grinned at Blaine's petulant glare.

"I'm. A. Virgin." Blaine repeated with his face in his hands so the words were muffled. "I panicked, okay? I wasn't expecting you to go from yelling and borderline tears to—to _kissing _me and I got nervous, cause what if I sucked? And…_sex._" His face was so red. And _fucking hell_, those words shouldn't make Kurt's stomach twist up so hotly.

"Hey," Kurt tugged Blaine's hands down. "Relax, Blaine. First of all, I _know_, and second, I wouldn't ever force anything on you, okay? It's cool. I'm over it." He still felt like a slut, but whatever, Blaine didn't need to feel guilty on top of everything else.

Blaine shifted nervously. "You don't…you don't think I'm boring? Or a prude?" His face was a mix of hopeful and embarrassment and Kurt wondered what people had been telling Blaine about him to get that look. Fucking hell, Kurt really hated McKinley.

"Shit, Blaine," Kurt gaped at him. "Seriously? So you don't want to fuck; so what? I'm not gonna, like, get pissed at you for that. What do you think Scandals is for?" He let Blaine take it in and smile hesitantly, though Blaine still looked a little hurt. "That said, I'm still not dating you." Kurt winced internally as Blaine's face dropped. "It's not—"

"I really don't want to hear the 'it's not you, it's me' speech, Kurt, no offense," Blaine interrupted, voice half choked.

Kurt punched his arm lightly. "Don't be stupid, Blaine," he snapped, glaring and maybe blushing a little. "I just told you what a possessive fuckhead Karofsky is; do you really think it's a good idea to parade a relationship with me in front of his nose? He'd kill you. And I'm not exaggerating; he once took me to a gun range with his father's shotgun and showed me how good of a shot he is." He felt a small trickle of guilt at how fast Blaine's face drained of blood, but he had to get the little geek to understand their situation. Kurt sighed loudly and fell back against his seat.

Blaine narrowed his eyes. "That's not the only reason." He stated, causing Kurt to freeze.

"Buckle up, I'm gonna take you home so you can get an icepack on your nose, it's bruising up pretty well," Kurt muttered instead. Silently, Blaine complied.

"It's not your fault," Blaine said once they got back to the main road. "Everything with Karofsky. It's not your fault."

"I know, Blaine," Kurt said, too exhausted to argue. Everything was still his choice, though, and Kurt wasn't running away from the consequences. It didn't make anything any better though, Kurt still wasn't boyfriend material. He was bitchy and rude and crude and violent and fucked up and Blaine deserved so much better.

"Thanks for trusting me," Blaine tried again. Kurt had to smile at that.

"I need to figure out what to do about Karofsky." Kurt changed the subject before Blaine could draw anything else out of him. There was all too much remembering for Kurt to handle right then. "He's going to be angry and he'll probably take it out on you, so stick close to me, okay? Don't go anywhere with him alone."

Blaine nodded slowly in understanding. "You were afraid he'd try with me what he did to you," Blaine said. It wasn't a question but Kurt nodded hesitantly anyway. "All this time and you were trying to protect me?" He didn't look away from Kurt and Kurt fought to keep his eyes on the road.

And he was definitely _not_ blushing, okay?

"No one deserves what he did. I used believe in firsts having meaning and romantic shit like that," Kurt said after a while. "Right after the first time we fucked, my dad gave me 'The Talk' and started going on and on about how 'I mattered' and I had to pretend like I agreed." Kurt glanced over at Blaine, who looked vaguely sick again. Which was _not _the point of this, shit. Kurt kept talking. "_You_ matter, Blaine, and I wasn't about to let him ruin sex for you like he did for me. It took a long time before I came to terms with myself about what happened. Last year…it just really sucked." _I'm not going to hurt you like he hurt me._ Kurt squeezed his hands around the wheel as he finally pulled up to Blaine's house. There was a car in the driveway and a light was on in the living room, so Kurt parked next to the curb.

The silence got awkward but Kurt felt too twitchy and _naked_ to break it again. At home his dad was waiting, where Kurt would no doubt have to come up with some severely watered down version of what happened before Karofsky decided to actually press charges or something. Meaning more lies.

This just wasn't Kurt's day.

Not for the first time, Kurt really wished Burt had let him put up that punching bag in his room. Kurt flexed his hands, wistfully imagining beating the crap out of something.

"I get why you're…you," Blaine finally said, looking frustrated and stumbling over the words like he was trying to pick the right ones. "For…for protection. But you're still running from _us_." Blaine glared at him stubbornly. "Karofsky is just a bullshit excuse you're using so you don't have to tell me the real reason you don't want to be together. I'm not an idiot, Kurt," Blaine said, pitching his voice louder over Kurt's defensive snort. "You and Karofsky weren't in a relationship. You're not him and I'm not you; we'd be better together and you know it."

Kurt flinched when the words hit him, but there wasn't much he could say. Instead he glared at his dashboard as Blaine sighed and left the car. He stayed motionless until Blaine made it into the house, then pulled away from the curb with the tires squealing when he stomped on the gas.

* * *

Burt found him later that night on his bed, buried under the covers and doing his best to pretend that the day never happened. It wasn't working.

"Hey, kiddo," Burt sat down carefully, trying not to crush his son. Kurt let out a muffled grunt, but otherwise ignored his father. Nodding to himself, Burt reached out and tugged on the blanket until Kurt's pink and brown hair poked out. "How're you feelin'?" Burt asked gently.

"Like shit," Kurt mumbled and pulled the covers back over his head, only for his father to snatch it back, Growling, Kurt twisted around and glared at him.

Burt raised an eyebrow. "Got something to do with that new shiner?" He gestured at Kurt's black eye. Karofsky, unfortunately, had a mean right hook and Kurt could barely blink without the whole mess throbbing painfully. "I got a call from a Mrs. Karofsky today. She was real pissed about you beating up her son. Again."

"Fucker deserved it." Kurt scowled. "'Sides, he can't prove anything. No witnesses." None that'll talk, anyway.

"Kurt." His father said warningly.

Kurt turned over and glared at the wall. It nice and boring and best of all, didn't have his dad's disappointed face looking back.

Or Blaine's.

Fuck.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Kurt didn't answer right away. "No," he said quietly, even as guilt twisted his stomach.

"You want some dinner?"

Kurt made a face. "No."

"They're gone, kiddo. I sent Carole and Finn home awhile ago." Burt crossed his arms and sighed. "Right after you stomped in, slammed the front door, glowered at my girlfriend and her son, and stormed off to your bedroom. And slammed that door too." He let out a long-suffering sigh as Kurt stuffed his head under his pillow. Burt pulled that away too, ignoring the furious glare Kurt sent his way. "C'mon, Kurt. Talk to me."

"There's nothing to say." Kurt turned to the wall again, but Burt put a solid hand on his shoulder and Kurt froze. Tensing, Kurt ran through a litany of silent curses and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Kurt…"

Looking over his shoulders, Kurt saw his father with a pleading expression. An exhausted expression, actually. A tired, defeated, scared, lost expression that _Kurt _put there, because Kurt inevitably fucks up anything good in his life. Kurt pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and pressed, fighting a sudden surge of emotion.

"Dad, please," Kurt whispered, voice catching on the last word. "_Please_, I don't want to lie to you right now, I really don't, just let it go, _please_ let it go…"

Hands grabbed his wrists and Kurt went easily, letting Burt pull him up into an all-encompassing hug. The stress of the last few weeks and reliving Karofsky all over again caught up and Kurt grabbed back just as fiercely and buried his head in Burt's chest. He smelled like motor oil, cloves and cinnamon and _home_ and fucking hell, Kurt was ready for everything to just be over.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Kurt mumbled into Burt's plaid shirt. His father's arms tightened, warms and safe. "I'm so sorry, I never meant to—I'm sorry—"

"Shh, kiddo, it's gonna be alright," Burt soothed helplessly as his hands ran up and down Kurt's back, rubbing as Kurt let out a gasping sob. "It's gonna be alright."

Kurt didn't believe him, but it was nice to pretend for a little while. He eventually pulled back, wiping at his eyes and sniffing wetly. God, he was gross. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" Kurt shrugged in defeat. Burt wasn't exactly a touchy-feely guy, and having his son freak out and sob on his shoulder for a good twenty minutes was probably more affection than he wanted to deal with.

But Burt surprised him. "That's been a long time comin', hasn't it?" Burt rubbed Kurt's knee with a knowing look. "Don't think I've ever heard you cry like that, not since your mother."

Tensing, Kurt shook his head. "I'm fine," he said tightly. "It's just…it's been a rough day, but I'm fine now, I was just…"

"Working through some shit, right?" Burt repeated his words from earlier, nodding when Kurt froze up with a guilty look. "Kurt," Burt sighed, like he was frustrated but had no idea what to do. "You're still my son, no matter how much hair dye or black leather or eyeliner—"

"That was _once_, Dad, and I looked fantastic." Kurt interrupted, smiling at Burt's chuckle. The mood lightened a little.

"_Anyway_," Burt tried to glare but his eyes stayed more fond than anything. "There's nothing you can do to make me upset, okay kiddo?" His voice dropped into a serious tone and Kurt stared down at his hands.

He'd change his mind if he knew what Kurt got up to those nights he lied about going to Quinn's or Puck's. If he knew about Scandals or the basketball team or the hockey team or Karofsky. Especially if he knew about Karofsky.

"Okay, Dad," Kurt whispered.

"Puck and Quinn were here earlier."

The words hit Kurt like a truck. "What?" he breathed, looking up at his father in panic.

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Burt sighed. "He said you were standing up for Blaine again. He was a little fuzzy on who started it—"

"He still deserved it," Kurt muttered darkly, remembering Karofsky's triumphant face as he recounted forcing himself on Blaine.

"_—But_ it sounded like you had a good reason to do…whatever it was that you did." Burt's large hand clapped down on Kurt's shoulder. "Just wish you didn't do it so violently," Burt added. "That boy's mother has a set of lungs on her that rivals a hawk."

A vision of a confused Burt getting screamed at over the phone rose in Kurt's mind and he released an involuntary chuckle.

Burt nodded, resigned. "This Blaine kid. He important to you?" Burt stared at him and Kurt knew he wasn't getting out of that talk.

"Yeah," Kurt admitted, hands twisting together nervously. "He's…yeah."

"He's a good kid, you know," Burt continued.

"I know." Kurt swallowed, trying to ignore the fear knotting his stomach. Burt was _Burt_; he'd been remarkably accepting when Kurt came out to him after a football game _Kurt_ won, even when Kurt changed during Karofsky's time, but it was one thing to know his son was gay and an entirely different thing to _see _it.

Not that Kurt was going to be gay with Blaine anytime soon and oh god, someone needed to stop his brain. Heat rose in his cheeks and Kurt silent swore at his stupid pale skin because now was so not the time to start blushing.

Burt raised another unimpressed eyebrow before groaning, but he was smiling so Kurt was left very confused. "You remember that speech we talked about last year, right?" Burt asked, his cheeks turning a very slight pink.

"Oh god." Kurt paled, because _no_, he could not be having this conversation again. It was mortifying enough the first time around.

"Same thing goes now."

"Oh _god_."

"Blaine matters too, Kurt," Burt persisted, yanking Kurt's hands off his ears, rolling his eyes at Kurt's grin. "Just remember that, okay?"

Remembering the conversation Kurt had with Blaine only a few hours ago made Kurt smile gently. "Yeah, I got it, Dad," Kurt said, ducking his head to hide the way his cheeks flamed.

"And tell the kid to quit jumping every time I talk to him," Burt said grumpily as he stood up. "He looks like I'm gonna eat him or something, and I need someone to talk to about the Buckeyes if you're not gonna indulge me," he winked from the doorway.

"I will, Dad," Kurt said, shoulders relaxing like a weight had been taken off. Burt nodded and turned to leave. "Wait," Kurt called out, making Burt pause. "You're a great dad, you know that? You're doing a good job."

The way his father's face lit up with pride punched Kurt in the gut. After everything Kurt put this man through, Burt deserved a fucking medal. He shouldn't look at Kurt like Kurt was his whole life, like Kurt mattered.

"Thanks, son. Love you," Burt said, walking a little straighter as he left the room.

Kurt curled over and dropped his head in his hands.

* * *

Karofsky was civil the next week.

Like…_really _civil. He barely acknowledged Kurt or Blaine and when he did, it was to ask for a pencil in English. A fucking pencil, as if the bruise on his chin wasn't from Kurt's fist and they hadn't screamed at each other like animals only a few days before.

All in all, the whole situation just made Kurt nervous and he stuck to Blaine like glue, even going so far as to personally chauffeur Blaine to and from school.

Blaine wasn't particularly a fan of the new routine, but Kurt saw his private smiles when he walked out his door and saw the Navigator waiting for him. He wasn't fooling anyone. Sure, they got a few astonished looks and Rick tried to tease Blaine about being a booty call, but Kurt growled something about stamina as they walked by and Rick shut up pretty damn quick. Karofsky was the only one that seemed to have a problem as he lurked in the back of the crowd, expression flickering to furious before becoming blank.

That was something to keep an eye on, Kurt realized. Puck was standing by his locker and glowering, which Kurt needed to take care of after avoiding one of his best friends for a few days. Puck didn't deserve that. He nudged Blaine towards Rachel and Mercedes, muttering that he'd catch up in class, before slinking over to the lockers.

"You didn't call me," Puck said without preamble, crossing his arms. "You said you would."

"Well, guess that makes me a fucking liar, now doesn't it?" Kurt smiled ruefully as Puck's scowl turned dark. Disappointing yet another person; what a surprise.

"We were worried about you," Puck snapped. "Me and Quinn. She wanted to see you last night, but your dad told us you needed some time or some shit." Puck glared at the lockers like he wanted to hit them. "We were _scared_."

Kurt groaned to himself and leaned against the locker, running his fingers through his hair and tugging on his earrings. Puck and Quinn were his friends; they didn't deserve for Kurt to push them aside like he always did. He could stand there and blow Puck off, but Kurt suddenly didn't want to.

He wasn't going to go all sharing and caring like he did to Blaine, but Puck was a good guy. Aside from Quinn, Puck was the only person that was willing to give him a chance and be a friend last year after all the shit went down and he stuck around. And Quinn did too, even though she was back to playing Barbie with pompoms.

"Don't be a brat, Hummel," Puck growled.

"I'm fine," Kurt cut off Puck's speech. "I'm honestly…I'm okay. Thank you." Shifting from foot to foot, Kurt looked down at his shoes. They never said that kind of shit to each other.

Granted, they also never broke down in the other's arms and cried after trying to murder someone, but the point still stood.

It shocked Puck into silence, though he eyed Kurt with suspicion. "You were really fucked up that day," Puck said frankly, though some worry trickled in. "Like…really fucked up. I don't think I've ever seen you that out of control."

"It was a bad day," Kurt mumbled. That wasn't a lie, though it was an understatement.

"It's been a bad day for past few _months_," Puck said grumpily, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder as the bell rang for homeroom.

Kurt winced. "Yeah, it has been," he conceded. "Hey, listen. I need a favor." Kurt pushed Puck's shoulder to get his attention.

Scrubbing at his mohawk, Puck groaned. "It's about Karofsky, right? And the nerd?"

"Blaine," Kurt corrected. "Just make sure—"

"You want me to run interference on them two, yeah?" Puck interjected. He grinned as Kurt nodded. "Don't worry, Hummel, I got your back. We badasses gotta stick together, right?" He held out a fist enthusiastically and Kurt snorted.

"Fuck no, Puckerman, we're not in middle school anymore, I'm _not_ pounding your fist." Kurt rolled his eyes and kept walking, slipping into the easy banter with his friend.

Puck's face fell, but he ran to catch up and punched Kurt's arm. "That's cause you'd rather be pounding other things, right?" Puck smiled cheekily. "And by 'things' I mean 'asses' and by 'asses' I mean 'one kid with gelled hair and bowties and—'"

"Shut up, Puckerman!" Kurt shoved Puck away, laughing when Puck tripped over a freshman's backpack.

Righting himself with a glare at the terrified girl on the floor, Puck jogged back to Kurt and spun him around. "Look, in all seriousness dude," Puck started, "Blaine's worth it. You should give him a chance."

Kurt shrugged, cheeks starting to flush again. Stupid complexion; seriously. "Let's just deal with Karofsky first, okay?" Kurt said.

It was a stupid change of topic, but Puck went along with it. For about two seconds.

"Dude, break out the bike," Puck wriggled his eyebrows lewdly when Kurt looked at him. "Anderson's _face_, come on man!"

The idea started to form in Kurt's head and he tugged on his jacket sleeves. "I should make him ride it, right?" Kurt couldn't help a grin at the idea of a proper, prep-boy Blaine Anderson straddling his motorcycle.

"That's not the only thing you should make him ride—ow!" Puck rubbed at his arm after Kurt punched him. "You're abusive, asshole."

"And you're a dick," Kurt retorted, but winked. "A total dick, but one with good ideas."

Puck grinned.

* * *

The look on Blaine's face when Kurt showed up after Glee practice with an old motorcycle and an extra helmet the next week was priceless.

The way Puck took one look at them and cracked up was also priceless, especially when Blaine caught sight of Puck shooting Kurt two thumbs up. Rachel just sighed and left Blaine to gape on the steps, joining Finn in his mom's car. The rest of the club filed past with either unsurprised expressions or catcalls directed for Blaine to "get it!"

"You're just living up to every stereotype, aren't you," Blaine said, glaring even though his skin was white with terror. "The smokes, the leather, now the bike? Kurt." He made himself walk over to Kurt and stood next to the bike with his arms crossed. "I'm not getting on that thing." He declared, like that would make Kurt's bike magically turn into a four-door car.

Kurt shoved the black helmet into Blaine's stomach, smiling at the small resulting _oof_. "Let's go, Molly Ringwald, I want to see if the gel or the helmet will reign supreme on your hair. And I'm gonna be late to the garage if you don't move your ass." He raised an eyebrow, though he knew Blaine wasn't going to resist.

Because, _motorcycle_. That shit was hot and Blaine's cheeks were turning pink now that the fear was starting to leave.

Blaine shot him a disgruntled look, but put on the helmet and flipped down the dark visor. The image of Blaine with a motorcycle helmet and an outfit not uncommon in a country club (the boy was wearing fucking wingtips; what sixteen-year-old did that outside of fancy parties?) was probably the best thing Kurt had ever seen and it took him a few minutes to stop laughing long enough to notice Karofsky staring at them. When he saw Kurt looking back, he winked, like they were two friends sharing a private joke.

Swallowing his nerves and turning away from _him_, Kurt gestured for Blaine to get on behind him. He actually stopped breathing when Blaine straddled the seat and plastered himself to Kurt's back, arms winding around Kurt's chest in a tight grip.

It was _too fucking early_ for Kurt to deal with Blaine's dick next to his ass, even if that had been the whole point of the stupid bike. Kurt Hummel, everyone, was not known for thinking things through. Puck was an asshole.

"Please don't let me die," Blaine almost whimpered, the words muffled by the helmet. It was enough to snap Kurt out of whatever weird trance he was stuck in and Kurt snorted.

"Relax, Anderson, you're safe with me," he said lightly, glancing back towards the school. Karofsky was gone from his post next to the door, but Kurt didn't feel reassured. It felt like last year when he kept appearing places, always watching. Waiting.

Kurt shivered and jammed his own helmet on, as it was a condition from his father when he asked to borrow the bike. Fighting the urge to shiver, he kicked up the kickstand and twisted the key in the ignition, finally relaxing at the feel of the engine roaring into life under him. Blaine only clung tighter to his waist and Kurt let an unseen smirk curl over his face. Karofsky had no place here, so he pushed the jock to the back of his mind and focused on Blaine, solid and warm behind him.

"Hold on tight," Kurt yelled over his shoulder, getting a resulting squeeze in return. He may not be able to be in a relationship with Blaine, but the boy was fun to tease. And whenever Kurt did something nice for him, Blaine got that stupidly happy grin and Kurt's stomach would twist up and tiny voice would whisper in his ear that _it's possible, they could work, if you weren't such a fucking coward._

Kurt twisted the handlebar and pushed off, trying not to think about how nice Blaine's arms felt around him.

It felt like trust, and it had been a long time since anyone granted that to Kurt.


	9. Chapter 9

**Relationship: **Klaine  
**Rating: **R (mostly for language)  
**Word Count:** 7708/53,000+ so far  
**Warnings: **swearing, intense homophobic language, violence, angst, underage drinking, past hookups  
**Summary: **Skank!Kurt, Nerd!Blaine AU in season 2/3. Cause everyone has to have one, right?

**Author's Note-** _This is somehow the longest chapter yet. I hope you like it, there's maybe one or two more parts left. Let me know what you think and feel free to talk to me about anything!_

* * *

Rick the Stick was having a party on Friday and Kurt was sure as shit going to be there.

Not that Kurt was generally welcome to the local high school shindigs, but Rick threw parties with his college-age brother, which meant quality booze and a decent chance of getting laid with a guy within five years of Kurt's own age instead of closeted middle-aged creeps at Scandals. Plus, it pissed the jocks off when Kurt showed up and really, he had to get his fun somewhere. After spilling his guts to Blaine a few weeks ago, he was jumpy and moody and kept having these stupid bad dreams (not _nightmares_, nightmares were for babies) and he couldn't make himself relax.

So, party. And booze.

Blaine was off having another awkward family dinner and Kurt had winced in sympathy, but he was secretly glad Anderson would be occupied most of the night and wouldn't wonder where Kurt was. A house party with lots of alcohol and horny bastards all under one roof was no place for Poindexter. They could sniff out innocent virgins like a hawk and Blaine would get eaten alive if Kurt wasn't there to bail him out.

But tonight, Blaine was safe with his parents, and Kurt was free of his dad, who was on a date with Carol, so he decided he'd take one night for himself and just loosen up. Karofsky still hadn't made a move and the waiting and anticipation was driving Kurt crazy.

It was one more twisted way Karofsky used to mess with Kurt's head last year, after all. He wouldn't call for days or weeks at a time, drawing out the time between meetings until Kurt was so stressed out and paranoid he'd spend half the day jumping at the slightest noises and glued to his phone in case he missed a text. Kurt had never figured out if he liked the long periods between the events (he wasn't calling them dates, no matter what Karofsky insisted) or the short ones. The short ones meant everything happened faster, but at least he didn't have to deal the constant terror and hyperawareness that came from week-long breaks.

Kurt pushed the memories in the back of his head and walked to the party, intent on drinking enough to get his mind to stop thinking for a while.

* * *

The party was loud, crowded, and Kurt was exhausted after only an hour. Music pounded through his skull as he threw back another cup of who-knew-what that didn't affect him. Like, at all. Kurt scowled at the stupid cup and shoved his other hand deep in his jacket pocket, leaning against the wall, alone. All around him, boys and girls were making out and grinding and having a good ol' time and Kurt couldn't make himself join in.

Every time a guy caught his eye, Karofsky's face appeared and Kurt felt _sick_ and _panicked_ and Jesus, that was frustrating beyond all hell. At least he hadn't spotted the great dick here yet. Santana winked at him as she passed, clutching a huge college guy with muscles and Kurt rolled his eyes, storming off to the makeshift bar in the kitchen. Maybe he could swipe a whole bottle for himself.

Puck had abandoned him hours ago, off hooking up with one of the cheerleaders who was not Quinn, and Kurt secretly hoped Quinn wasn't around to see that. That was a can of worms Kurt really hoped he'd never have to deal with. He pushed his way through dancing teens, dodging red solo cups and boobs until he found the kitchen.

"Hey," Quinn appeared at his side, clutching his arm and giggling. "Didn't think I'd see you here after—after You-Know-Who!" She took a gulp of her drink and laughed when Kurt pushed her off with a smile. She was flushed and still in her giggly-phase, twirling her hair around her finger and eying the boy behind Kurt with a flirty smirk.

"Karofsky's not Voldemort," Kurt grumbled. He glared at the kid trying to hand him a beer and grabbed a half-full vodka bottle from under the table.

"Not the point. You've been grumpy lately," Quinn remarked, jumping onto the counter and smoothing her skirt. She reached over and snatched the bottle from his hands, pouring some into her cup. "Got anything to do with the way Anderson keeps staring at you like a lost puppy?" The judgmental look she shot Kurt lost some of its power when she nearly toppled off the counter.

Kurt tugged her down to the floor, where she could do much less damage to herself. "Where's Boy Toy #3? Move on already?" He drawled, smirking. She shot him a dirty look.

"Quinn! There you are!" A blonde blur brushed past Kurt and grabbed Quinn into a sloppy kiss, which she returned. Enthusiastically.

"Apparently not," Kurt snorted, because _of course_. He moodily filled his cup with the vodka and added a few mixers. He wasn't really paying attention.

"Just because you're not—eep!—getting any—" Quinn glared at Kurt over Sam's shoulder. Dear God, they were sickening together.

"Okay, was there a reason you found me? Or did you just need a distraction before Sam could stick his tongue down your throat." Kurt gave her a bitchy look as he took a gulp of his drink. It tasted like pineapple.

Sam pulled off and slung an arm around his girlfriend, smiling dazedly. "Actually yeah!" He said brightly. "Thought you'd wanna know, I saw Blaine with some guy—"

Kurt's brain shorted out. "_What?"_ He gaped at Sam, catching his slipping drink at the last second before it spilled all over his favorite pair of studded boots. Blaine was _here?!_

"Yeah, I thought that too!" Sam grinned. "Anyway, they looked pretty happy but I—"

"I'm gonna kill him," Kurt muttered, dumping his drink in the sink.

"—thought you'd wanna check the guy out and make sure everything's, you know…"

"I knew you'd be a jealous fucker so I came to find you and tell you to get your man," Quinn finished, grinning maliciously. "Pretty sure he was talking to Cole. Remember Cole?"

Kurt growled under his breath. He remembered Cole. He _definitely _remembered Cole, the college boy that had a thing for preying on naive virgins or insecure boys looking for something more than a fuck. Cole specialized in making boys feel special and then leaving after getting a few orgasms, usually while stomping all over their hearts in the process.

"Thanks," Kurt spat at her. "Thanks for leaving Blaine with that trash; I really appreciate everyone making my sex life their business. It's fucking delightful!" He shouted as Quinn turned back to making out with Sam. She flipped him off without breaking away.

Whatever. He had to find Blaine and kick his ass for showing up here _without_ Kurt. Blaine screamed "_virgin!_," he was going to get snapped up by some creep if Kurt didn't find him soon.

"Blaine!" Kurt called into the living room, but he only got a few eye rolls and a few _whatevers _between the pounding bass and something vaguely like singing. _Honestly,_ Kurt thought, moving through the crowded rooms, _you'd think finding the dork would be easy seeing as he'd stick out like a sore thumb here._ "Blaine!" Still nothing. Kurt was reminded of how much he really hated parties when a girl was shoved into him by a group of laughing kids. She kept trying to kiss his lips, which Kurt found hard to avoid because the rooms were so freaking tiny until he somehow managed slip out of her clingy grip and pawn her onto Jacob Ben Israel. Jew-Fro looked like he'd creamed his pants the second the girl touched him, but Kurt wasn't about to check because _gross._

Finally, Kurt spotted a yellow and black checkered shirt through gyrating bodies. _Got him._ Kurt shoved his way through the crowd to the hall, finding Blaine pinned between the wall and a guy with a polo shirt and blond spiked hair. Who was currently doing his best to suck out Blaine's tongue.

Something flared in Kurt's stomach (_not jealously, okay, it's not)_ and Kurt grabbed the douchebag's shoulder and pulled him off Blaine, smiling grimly at the twin 'heys!' from their mouths. Blaine's face instantly brightened and Cole's fell back into an overly confident smirk that Kurt once thought was pretty hot. Now it just made Kurt want to punch him in the face.

"Hey, gorgeous! Miss me?" Cole winked his stupidly gorgeous blue eyes and skimmed over Kurt's outfit, nodding appreciatively at Kurt's skintight silver pants and form-fitting black studded vest. "Damn, Kurt, you really know how to pull off the sexy bad boy look, huh?" He moved in for a hug, which Kurt grudgingly accepted, until Cole's arms drifted down and hands squeezed his ass. No fucking way.

Shoving him off, Kurt smiled tightly. "Like I miss my zits, Cole. Keep it in your pants, jackass." He fixed his glare on Blaine, who wilted. "The fuck are you doing here, Anderson? With _him_ of all people?" Cole let out an injured noise but Kurt ignored him.

Blaine crossed his arms defiantly. "I'm sixteen, Kurt, you're—you're not my babysitter!" he insisted, swaying a little.

_Oh fuck, he's drunk._ Kurt realized, finally noticing the way Blaine's cheeks were tinged red and the dizziness in his eyes.

Stumbling forward, Blaine grabbed onto Cole's arm. "I was just—just tryin' to have some _fun_," Blaine continued, eyes wide and earnest and unfocused. "I never—never have fun; an' you don't want me but—but Cole _does_ and he's _cute_ an'—"

"Puck texted you, didn't he?" Kurt interrupted, because he wasn't an idiot. He wasn't even going to address the fact that Blaine thought Kurt didn't want him. Because…no. Not here, not when Karofsky could pop out at any moment. He hadn't seen any of the asshole's buddies yet, but the night was young. He could still turn up. And a drunken Karofsky was not something Kurt wanted to deal with when there was an audience.

Blaine blushed. "N—_no_, he—yeah." He looked miserable. Cole rubbed his back, letting his hand roam down until Kurt's glare stopped him. He released Blaine with a snort.

"Jesus, you can't even lie when you're smashed." Kurt stared at Blaine in wonder.

Blaine nodded his head in agreement, but Cole rolled his eyes. "Do you mind, Hummel? We're kind in the middle of something, unless you know," he smirked, moving closer and trailing his fingers along Kurt's sides. "Thinkin' about joining in, baby? We could teach Blaine all sorts of things," He said in a husky voice, like he thought Kurt was going to forget their last hookup when Cole left Kurt in a bathtub in a frat house without his clothes. Not likely.

Kurt slapped at the wandering hands with a fierce glare. "Don't touch me again," he growled. Blaine stared at them with wide eyes, body shifting towards Kurt but then away, but Kurt pulled him to his side and kept him there with a tight grip around Blaine's arm. Cole rolled his eyes at the sight. "We're leaving now, keep your dick to yourself, okay?" Kurt said, falsely polite and dripping disdain all over the place. Honestly, he was pushing his luck with the older boy, who didn't seem to notice Kurt making fun of him.

"Aw, c'mon, Kurt, we had good times together, right? C'mon!" Cole practically whined and Kurt shot him a withering look.

"Back. Off. Rosen. Not interested. Neither is Blaine." Kurt snarled, tightening his grip on Blaine's arm. Blaine slumped against his side and let his hands wind around Kurt's waist. "He's drunk; do you really need another lesson in consent and jailbait?"

Cole snorted, expression souring. "Fuckin' hell. You used to be fun, Hummel, what's with the choirboy act? Not like we all know you're secretly beggin' for it." He lifted an eyebrow. "You always used to be up for fuck, want a reminder?" Waving down towards his crotch, Cole laughed at Kurt's annoyed reaction.

"Kurt's not a slut," Blaine slurred with a glare. He lifted a swaying finger to point at Cole's face. "Not a whore." He declared.

While it was sweet of Blaine to defend his honor, Kurt had enough. "Fuck off, Cole." Kurt rolled his eyes and pushed Blaine out, following the stumbling kid to the front porch. Cole let them go with a loud curse.

The cool November air felt wonderful to Kurt, but Blaine started shivering until Kurt gave him his jacket. Sliding it on ungracefully, Blaine smiled widely at Kurt.

"What?" Kurt asked suspiciously.

Blaine motioned for Kurt to move in closer and grabbed a fistful of Kurt's shirt. "You're…" He grinned like he was about to reveal some huge secret and Kurt eyed him nervously. "You're actually…_nice!"_ Blaine laughed in Kurt's confused face and patted his back with the tact of someone that didn't realize they were drunk. "Defendin' my honor!" He nodded to himself and tried to take a step before practically falling into Kurt.

"Anderson, how much have you had to drink?" Kurt narrowed his eyes at Blaine, who had changed to petting Kurt's arm and leaning in heavily. His hot breath fanned over Kurt's neck and Kurt swallowed, willing his dick under control. This was _so_ not the time.

Shrugging, Blaine let his head fall on Kurt's shoulder and breathed in deeply. "You smell nice."

"_Blaine_."

Out of nowhere, Puck popped up with Santana and slapped Kurt's back with a whoop of glee. Kurt jerked away from Blaine to shove Puck off, blushing furiously without really knowing why. "Dammit, Puckerman!" Kurt growled, pushing Puck back into the porch's seat swing. Puck went easily, laughing and winking at Blaine. Blaine looked sad without Kurt next to him, but Santana slung an arm around his shoulders and shoved a red cup into Blaine's hands. He drank it happily, swaying slightly.

"You guys are finally getting together, right?" Puck smirked, leaning back into the seat and swinging gently. Santana flounced past Kurt and fell next to him with a self-satisfied leer.

"Yeah!"

"_NO."_ Kurt glared at Blaine, who ignored him in favor of downing the rest of his drink. He grinned brightly at Kurt and plastered himself to Kurt's back, sighing in happiness. _Christ. _And yet, Kurt couldn't seem to make himself shove Blaine off. Blaine clung to Kurt's back like a limpet and really, Kurt was not drunk enough for this.

Puck groaned loudly and Santana shot him a judgmental expression. "Come on, Kurt, you're allowed to have _fun_ y'know," Puck practically whined. Santana nodded emphatically and turned to catch Puck in a wet kiss.

"I just—" Kurt cut himself off when a group of girls stumbled out of the house, giggling. He waited until they passed before trying again. "My sex life is none of your business." Kurt crossed his arms in the cool air and glared at Puck. "Speaking off, texting _Blaine?!"_

Puck shrugged. "He was complaining in Glee that he's too boring, so I told him to get his ass over here. And that you were here." He smirked in a stupidly self-satisfied way that made Kurt want to hit him.

"Also I told him that you don't play by the rules so…" Santana snickered. "Blaine needed to lighten up; being a goody two-shoes is lame."

There was an insistent tapping on his shoulder and Kurt turned his exasperated expression on Blaine. "I snuck out of my house!" Blaine said proudly. "And it was _awesome!" _He smiled so widely Kurt had to snort.

Kurt turned back to Puck. "I'm still kicking your ass," he stated, ignoring the way Blaine still clung to his side. "Both of yours." He fixed his glare on Santana as well.

Santana snorted. "Hummel, you need to remove that stick from your ass. It's exhausting being around your guys' sexual tension." She waved towards Blaine, who blushed.

"Kurt cock-blocked me earlier," Blaine said sadly. "But he won't go out with me." He wallowed for a minute before whipping his head up like something occurred to him. "Am I not good enough?" His eyes grew shiny and wet and he took a step backwards. Guilt twisted Kurt's stomach and he silently cursed as Puck laughed uproariously.

"Is that what Cole was bitching about in there?" Puck wiped his streaming eyes, still snorting with laughter. "Jesus, Hummel, only you."

"Cole's a _dick_." Kurt insisted, trying to overlook the way Blaine's face looked like a kicked puppy. "You remember the shit he put me through." His voice was too defensive and Kurt silently cursed himself.

"Yeah, you don't care _at all."_ Puck raised a judging eyebrow and Kurt gave him the finger. Reaching behind him, Kurt caught Blaine's arm and nudged him towards the driveway. Blaine didn't resist, instead turning and storming off, but not before Kurt caught a glimpse of wet cheeks and furrowed eyebrows.

Great, now Anderson was pissed at him. Kurt watched him for a few steps before scrubbing at his face in frustration and shooting a glare at a snickering Santana.

"Fuck my life," Kurt muttered. "Anderson! WAIT!" He called after Blaine just as Blaine disappeared behind a large SUV in the driveway. "Blaine!" Kurt stopped short when he turned the corner of the car, inhaling sharply.

Karofsky stood in front of a frozen Blaine, looking nearly as shocked as Kurt. His eyes flickered from Kurt to Blaine, back to Kurt.

After spilling his secrets to Blaine only a week before, Kurt was nowhere _near_ ready to speak to his tormentor. Every look, every word Karofsky spoke to him threw Kurt back to last year and he nearly choked on the sudden onslaught of memories pressing on his brain now that Karofsky was right _there._

"Didn't think you'd be here," Karofsky said hesitantly. He glanced at Blaine, who still hadn't moved. Kurt didn't answer and Karofsky shoved his hands into his pockets. "Why is he looking at me like that?" He said with an edge to his voice, inclining his head towards Blaine. His brow furrowed. "He's wearing your jacket." Karofsky said, voice tinged with jealousy.

Kurt made his legs move to Blaine, stepping into a protective stance slightly in front of him. "Leave him alone. We're leaving," Kurt bit out. Blaine's hand snuck out and gripped Kurt's, squeezing. Karofsky's face clouded over at the sight.

"Whatever, Hummel," He scoffed, shaking his head. Like he thought Kurt would fall for his false disinterest. "What would I want with two fairies like you?" The way his hands were balled into fists in his pockets betrayed him.

"I know what you did," Blaine spoke up behind Kurt. Kurt whipped his head around, silently warning Blaine to _shut up_, but Blaine glared at Karofsky instead. If Kurt thought he'd seen Blaine angry before, it was nothing compared to the expression on Blaine's face now. He didn't look drunk; he looked like he'd happily tear Karofsky apart with his bare hands.

It made Kurt feel sick.

"Blaine—"

"He's lying!" Karofsky snarled at Blaine, his face almost unrecognizable under the rage. "You fucking _idiot_, Hummel's _lying! _He asked for _everything!"_

Blaine actually growled and Kurt grabbed his arm to stop Blaine from launching himself at the football player with at least a hundred pounds on him. "Walk away, Karofsky." Kurt said calmly, proud of the way his voice never wavered. "We'll talk. Just walk away. He's drunk, he doesn't know what he's saying."

"I know _exactly_ what I'm sayin', Kurt!" Blaine tried to pull out of Kurt's grip, but the alcohol messed with his head and coordination enough that Kurt was able to restrain him easily. Blaine growled in frustration and muttered angrily under his breath.

"We're actually gonna talk?" Karofsky narrowed his eyes at Kurt, ignoring Blaine's disgruntled mumbling. "Like _talk_ talk? About us?" Something suspiciously like hope bled into his eyes, and Kurt forced back a gag.

"Yeah," Kurt lied woodenly. "You still have my number."

"Coffee?" Karofsky asked, shifting on his feet. Like he was nervous. "Lima Bean?"

Blaine growled again but Kurt elbowed him sharply. "Yeah. One day." Kurt agreed in a tight voice. He pushed Blaine towards the road. "We're going now." His tone left no room for argument and Karofsky didn't speak as Kurt shoved Blaine forward. Rick's house wasn't too far from his own, so Kurt had walked. Blaine's car was out of the question, even if Kurt hadn't been drinking, the encounter with Karofsky left him too shaky to trust himself behind a wheel. It wasn't until they turned the corner and were out of sight of the party that Kurt could _breathe_.

He stopped walking and drew in a shuddery breath, trembling all over. Holy _fuck_, he'd been face to face with _him_ and nothing happened. Kurt let out a choking laugh that sounded more like a sob and he released his deathly tight grip on Blaine's arm to press the heels of his palms to his eyes. He had to collect himself, but his chest tightened and refused to release.

"Kurt?" Blaine said softly, standing close enough that Kurt could feel his presence with closed eyes. "Hey. You okay?" Unsteady hands tried rubbing Kurt's upper arms soothingly, but Kurt jumped at the contact and stepped back.

"Don't—" Kurt choked out, hands out defensively. His skin still _crawled_, even though he knew it was Blaine in front of him, not Karofsky. Blaine's face fell into a tortured and guilty expression that slapped Kurt. "Just—not now," Kurt muttered, forcing himself to grab Blaine's arm and drag him down the street. Luckily, Blaine didn't protest, though he slipped occasionally.

The road was dark and empty, with only occasional streetlights throwing the odd glow of light in small spheres to guide them. Kurt made the walk mechanically, relying on muscle memory rather than actually paying attention to the passing houses. He kept his mind carefully blank, focusing on his feet so he didn't have to _think_ so much. Thinking was overrated.

Blaine tugged at his sleeve insistently, jolting Kurt out of his daze. His eyes were glassy and his face was pale. "I'm—I don't feel—" Blaine started haltingly. Kurt understood not a moment too soon, shoving Blaine behind the nearby house's bushes just before Blaine emptied his stomach with a sickening retch.

The acrid smell burned Kurt's nose, but he stayed, rubbing Blaine's back as he emptied his stomach again, and again. Blaine coughed, loud enough that Kurt worriedly glanced at the darkened house to make sure no lights had gone on. Trying to explain why a high school kid was vomiting in their bush at one in the morning to the Vanders was not an experience Kurt wanted to go through. They were close to the Hummel's house, though.

"Feeling better?" Kurt asked, squatting down to Blaine's eye level where the poor kid was hunched over. "It tastes a hell of lot worse coming up than going down, but puking usually helps." Kurt felt Blaine's clammy forehead, hot and covered in sweat.

Blaine kept his head down, avoiding Kurt's eyes. He tugged Kurt's jacket around himself protectively. "'M fine," he muttered, almost petulantly. He made no effort to stand up straight, though.

"My house is like, four down from here. Think you can make it?" Kurt found his hands carding through Blaine's hair. The gel had loosened and he let his fingers trail through the escaping curls. Blaine leaned into the touch. He nodded hesitantly, so Kurt gently nudged him to an upright position. Blaine stared at his feet, then Kurt. "You think you can walk?" Kurt gestured to the street. In the dim light, Blaine thought for a second and then shook his head pathetically.

"M' legs feel weird," he whispered with sad eyes.

Biting back a groan, Kurt slipped an arm around Blaine's torso, guiding Blaine's arm over his shoulders to support Blaine's weight. Blaine looked miserable, but he got his feet under enough control to match Kurt's slow pace and took one shaky step after the other. "Sorry," Blaine muttered. Kurt squeezed his hip in response.

Honestly, Blaine was proving to be one of the more cooperative drunks Kurt had taken care of yet. Puck usually passed out and Quinn generally wound up either yelling or crying at everyone in her sight. By contrast, Blaine was downright mellow.

At the end of Kurt's driveway, Blaine stopped in his tracks. He just shook his head when Kurt tried to urge him forward.

"Jesus, Blaine, it's like literally twenty feet to my door." Kurt snapped impatiently. He was tired, sore, and really fucking cold from walking outside in November without a coat. Which was currently on Blaine, by the way. He wanted his fucking bed. With Blaine in it (so he could make sure the kid survived the night, not for anything else, okay?).

Blaine shook his head again, but curled his fingers in Kurt's shirt and pulled him in. He swayed a little and Kurt automatically brought up his hands to hold Blaine steady.

"If you puke on my jacket, I will kick your ass," Kurt said, alarmed at the pallor of Blaine's face. "Drunk or not, I swear to you." Blaine barked out a laugh and leaned into Kurt's shoulder, taking deep, even breaths. It took a few minutes, but Blaine eventually got himself under control.

"Not gonna throw up," Blaine grunted. Still clutching Kurt's shirt, he dragged his eyes up. "Don't go." He said, clearly. "I'm—I don't want you. To meet _him _alone." The fuzziness in Blaine's eyes cleared at the thought.

Kurt groaned inwardly and tried to push Blaine to the door, but Blaine held firm. "Come on, Blaine." Kurt said, exhausted with the whole damn night.

"Promise me." Blaine said stubbornly. He poked Kurt's chest with an accusing finger, swaying until Kurt caught him again. "_You_ don't meet him alone." He declared, echoing Kurt's words from only a few weeks ago. It was infuriating.

"I can take care of myself, Blaine." Kurt clenched his jaw shut.

Rolling his eyes, Blaine shook his head. "_Not_ what I meant. You're just—you're not _alone_." Blaine looked annoyed, like Kurt wasn't understanding something important. Kurt stared at him, baffled. Blaine huffed angrily.

"Blaine, I'm fine. I'm good." Kurt tried to resist a shiver at Blaine's closeness. "Seriously, you don't have to worry about me." Nobody ever really does, after all. Except his dad.

Blaine glared at him, disgruntled. "You're an idiot." He said firmly, enunciating every word. "I'm not drunk. But you're _dumb_." He finally released Kurt's shirt, stepping back to cross his arms petulantly.

Utterly lost, Kurt ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing the exhaustion out of his face. "Anderson, you're fucking drunk," Kurt grumbled. "C'mon, get your ass inside." Blaine didn't fight Kurt's guidance to the porch, but he did fling his arms around Kurt as soon as Kurt got them through the door.

"Even though you're being stupid," Blaine mumbled into Kurt's shoulder and hugged Kurt close. "I still care about you, dummy."

Kurt returned the embrace but didn't know what to say.

* * *

Because Kurt was clearly a masochist, he made Blaine sleep in his bed that night with him. At first Blaine resisted, muttering something about Kurt being "a stupid martyr way too often to be healthy" and trying to take the downstairs couch. It took Kurt reminding him three times of how pissed and disappointed Burt would be if he found his favorite adopted son passed out from drinking in his living room in a few hours when he left for work for Blaine to give up and fall into Kurt's bed.

Kurt didn't silently preen when Blaine rubbed his face all over his pillow, proclaiming the damn thing to be like a perfect cloud that smelled like Kurt. That would be weird.

Instead, Kurt forced Blaine to borrow some sleepwear, brush his teeth with a spare toothbrush, drink a whole glass of water, and swallow a few painkillers before he let him back into the bed. Then, once he changed into sweatpants and an old tank top, he poked Blaine into lying on his side, ignoring Blaine's sleepy protests.

"Not gonna puke," Blaine mumbled grumpily, swatting at Kurt's hand.

Seriously, the things Kurt did to take care of this dumb kid.

"Don't want you to die choking on your own vomit in my bed," Kurt scowled at Blaine in the dark. "It'd be awkward." Blaine muttered something, twisting around when Kurt slipped into the space behind him.

"Told you," Blaine mumbled, looking at Kurt with a sleepy grin. "You're actually a _nice person!"_ The little pipsqueak even tried to tap his nose, pouting when Kurt caught his wrist.

"Stop ruining my badass reputation and go to sleep, Anderson," Kurt growled without much heat. Blaine grinned at him again, because Kurt's threats had long ago lost their meaning, but obeyed and faced away from Kurt.

The bed was warmer with another body, and Kurt was close enough to hear Blaine's steady heartbeat in the small bed. He could reach out and touch Blaine. His hand moved without his permission and pressed against Blaine's clothed shoulder, which was solid and real. For a second, they could have been real lovers, sharing a bed together and being happy.

It was so fucking domestic Kurt almost bolted from the bed and slept on the couch because they'd never have that. Ever. But Kurt, again, liked to torture himself with things he couldn't have so he turned over and ignored the way the bed rose and dipped with Blaine's even breaths and the soft sighs and snuffles that came for sharing a bed.

If falling asleep sharing a bed with Blaine was torture, waking up with him was _agony_. Blaine was damn clingy at night apparently, and somehow managed to wind himself around Kurt so he was half-on top of Kurt's chest, face pressed into the curve of his neck, and legs tangled up with Kurt's. This much contact with another person (_Blaine)_ was way too much to ask of Kurt in the morning and Kurt groaned, stretching under Blaine's weight and feeling every point of contact between them blaze under his skin like fire. Like he'd said; agony.

Blaine's thigh was also _really_ close to a certain area, by the way, and if he didn't stop shifting in his sleep, things were about to become incredibly awkward for all those involved.

Carefully nudging Blaine to turn over, Kurt slid out of the bed, snorting when he saw Blaine grumpily cuddle up to Kurt's now abandoned pillow. Blaine nuzzled into it like a dog.

"I swear, you're part puppy, Anderson," Kurt muttered to himself, dragging himself down the stairs to get started on breakfast for his dad. If left to his own devices, Burt would eat scrambled eggs and bacon every morning. There was a deal between them that whoever woke up first made breakfast, so Kurt made it his mission to win every morning so Burt could get egg whites and fresh fruit instead of grease. Burt pretended to mind, but Kurt appreciated him sucking it up.

He just wanted his sick dad around for a long time, and Burt's diet was one way he could help.

Blaine showed up in the kitchen a few hours later, long after Burt had left. He moved like a zombie, half-open eyes bloodshot and hair sticking out in every direction. Kurt sipped his coffee and tried not to laugh as Blaine carefully dragged out a table and collapsed at the table.

"How are you so perfect so early?" Blaine complained, waving his hands around at Kurt's perfectly dressed appearance before letting his head fall to the table with a groan. "Why's it so bright?" he muttered into the wood.

"It's called a hangover," Kurt said helpfully, standing up to reheat the breakfast he'd left in the microwave. Blaine got bacon because greasy food worked wonderfully on hangovers, though he'd waited until Burt had left to make it.

Blaine groaned in reply.

The microwave beeped and Kurt got the plate out and plopped it in front of Blaine along with a bottle of Tylenol and Gatorade. Blaine wrinkled his nose at the greasy food.

"Drink that whole bottle, you'll feel better," Kurt said, sitting back down in his spot and taking his mug. Blaine glared at it with jealousy.

"No coffee?" He pouted.

Jesus. Those puppy eyes were cruel. Kurt shook his head and raised an eyebrow. "You're dehydrated; coffee'll make it worse. Eat your breakfast." He ordered.

Blaine scowled at the plate, but dragged a fork through the scrambled eggs and shoved it into his mouth without a word. A few bites in, Blaine woke up enough to thank Kurt for taking care of him, though Kurt just brushed it off. Friends didn't let friends hook up with creeps or pass out in bushes, okay, it wasn't anything more than that.

It shouldn't feel so good to be taking care of Blaine. Really.

"So, it's Saturday," Blaine said, once the Gatorade was half-finished and his plate was in the dishwasher. "You busy?" He asked almost shyly.

"I guess I could lower myself to your presence," Kurt rolled his eyes. Blaine didn't have to know that Kurt really didn't mind. It beat hiding alone in his room or wandering the park and getting dirty looks from the yuppies with babies.

Luckily, Blaine saw through his bullshit way too easily and grinned, bright and happy. "I left my car at Rick's," he said, frowning. "Um."

Kurt held out his hand. "Give me your keys and I'll drive it here. So you don't have to walk outside in my pjs." He was surprised when Blaine nodded and walked upstairs to get them without a pause. Blaine loved that stupidly old Chevy and never let anyone drive it. The trust he gave Kurt was a heady feeling and Kurt stared as Blaine disappeared around the corner.

Then again, he did let Kurt ride him around on Kurt's motorcycle, even though he called Kurt's baby a "deathtrap" on more than one occasion.

Kurt didn't know what to make of the whole situation so he let it go.

* * *

Monday morning found Kurt in McKinley's guidance counselor's office with no clear idea of how he got there. Blaine had shrugged when Mr. Schue cornered him at his locker and dragged Kurt off, motioning that he'd text Kurt later. Mr. Schue didn't answer Kurt's questions but pushed Kurt through the office door and left, though not without a really worrisome grin. McKinley made no sense, though Kurt had given up understanding the school years ago. He warily walked to the few chair and sat down, letting his backpack slide to the floor.

Karofsky was in the chair next to his, equally mystified. He kept stealing glances at Kurt, but Kurt ignored him in favor of glaring at Ms. Pillsbury across, the slim red-head that everyone knew Mr. Schue had a crush on. She didn't seem disturbed, instead smiling widely and looking at them with huge Bambi eyes. She was dressed almost as frumpy as Rachel, and Kurt felt his hands twitch with the urge to rip off the unnecessary frills that made her look about fifty.

It wasn't the first time Kurt had been told to attend a few sessions with Emma Pillsbury, though he usually just blew her off. The office hadn't changed too much, though she had more pamphlets in the display behind her than last year. Kurt's personal favorite was the one boldly proclaiming _I Can't Stop Touching Myself!_ with a rainbow. There were two piles on her desk and Kurt eyed them with apprehension. The last time someone gave him pamphlets was when he suffered through the sex talk with his dad, and Kurt had no doubt that this occasion would be equally as horrifying.

The three of them sat in silence for several minutes with Kurt slouched back in his chair, Karofsky practically on the edge of his, and Ms. Pillsbury leaning on her desk eagerly. The muted noise of the school changing periods was the only signal that any time had passed. Finally, Kurt gave up.

"Is there a reason I'm here?" he said to Ms. Pillsbury stiffly, not looking at Karofsky. "Because I have a million other places to be and none of them involve being so close to this asshole." He hated being so close to him. No sane person would ever let them be in the same room together, not after multiple fights broke out between them and now he was expected to tolerate that asshole's presence? It made no sense; Kurt and Karofsky had no reason to see each other and none of the teachers even know about the after school attack Kurt launched on Karofsky the day he told Blaine his story. A sickening thought occurred to him and he froze up.

Blaine wouldn't have told. Right?

The room was suddenly stifling and it was hard to breathe, but somehow he calmed himself down enough to hear Ms. Pillsbury talking to them.

"Well, Will and I were talking about how you two really seemed to do well in Glee when you were a part of it," she started brightly, heedless of the incredulous looks she got from Kurt and Karofsky. "We really feel like Glee could be a big help to both of you! But Kurt, since you don't want to work with Dave, and you two have a, um," she stumbled a little, seeing the glares Kurt and Karofsky exchanged. "_Violent_ history, we thought that a few sessions with me could help turn enemies into, well," she lifted her shoulders into a shrug, "Friends!" Holy Christ, she actually believed herself too. At least Blaine didn't tell. Kurt stared at her in disbelief.

"You want us to talk about our feelings?" Karofsky guessed, looking confused. He glanced at Kurt. "To each other?" He paled at the look of death Kurt returned.

Ms. Pillsbury faltered at Kurt rolling his eyes, but pressed on. "Well, yes. Studies show that talking fixes everything!" She stood up, grabbing her pamphlets and passing them out to the boys. They were bright and colorful and cheerful. Against his better judgment, Kurt flipped through the titles.

_Why You Hate The World and Everything In It_, one said, black and gloomy. _10 Steps to Befriending a Bully _was another, followed by _Help, I have a Potty Mouth!_ and it went on, listing every problem everyone seemed to have with Kurt. It was pretty insulting, actually. Kurt glanced at Karofsky's pile. The top said _You're Not a Bully, You're Misunderstood (And How To Stop Acting Out Your Fears On Others!)_ and Kurt was pretty done with the world at the moment.

"You're fucking joking, right?" Kurt said bluntly, taking some pleasure in Ms. Pillsbury's flinch at the curse. "This whole thing is a just a bullshit excuse for your boyfriend to use me to impress you."

Her eyes widened, horrified. "Kurt—"

"There's nothing wrong with _me_, why does everyone think that have to fix me?! I'm fine, I just don't want to be stuck in this godforsaken room with this jackass every other day for an hour; why can't you guys leave me alone?!" Kurt seethed. He clenched his hands into tight fists, grounding himself with the tiny pricks of pain from his nails digging into his palms.

"I'm okay with it," Karofsky interrupted, mumbling.

_What? _Kurt whipped his head around to stare at Karofsky. The other boy looked down at his shoes, avoiding Kurt's shocked expression. "I wanna talk." Karofsky muttered, barely above a whisper.

Ms. Pillsbury fixed an expectant look on Kurt, smiling in a way she probably thought was comforting but Kurt was too busy having his mind blown by a contrite Karofsky to feeling anything other than numb. "We've been meeting for a few weeks," she explained gently to Kurt, gesturing to Karofsky and Karofsky nodded, his shoulders hunched defensively. "He has a few things he wants to say to you, if you want to listen." Ms. Pillsbury looked at him with a half-smile. "I sort of sprung this on him too but I," she nodded happily. "I think you're both ready."

"I'm sorry," Kaorfsky muttered, so low Kurt thought he was hearing things. Because there was no way…

"What?" Kurt asked, slightly alarmed at how shiny Karofsky's eyes were getting. A _remorseful_ Karofsky was definitely not something Kurt was emotionally equipped to handle.

"I am," Karofsky muttered, fiddling with his hands.

"What?" Kurt repeated. Because seriously, _what?_

"I'm sorry, okay!" Karofsky snapped, glaring at Kurt with red eyes. "I'm just—_I'm_ sorry. For what I did." He said it sullenly and sniffed, loud and wet and Kurt just stared. This was not how he pictured the meeting going. He looked back at Ms. Pillsbury incredulously, but she just continued to smile.

"You're…" Kurt stared back at him, feeling like the world was tilting sideways. Nothing was real; nothing made _sense_ in this bizarre, alternate reality he was in. If he looked outside, there were probably flying pigs and dogs walking on their hind legs.

Karofsky dropped his head in his heads and his leg shook up and down nervously. He wiped his eyes, then his nose, then looked back up at Kurt through red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes.

"I want to try," Karofsky swallowed nervously and the bottom dropped out of Kurt's stomach. "I want to try again. With us. I'm…better, y'know? Not…not like it was. I'm sorry."

"No." The words couldn't come out of Kurt's mouth fast enough. "What the _fuck_, Karofsky? Are you out of your fucking mind?!" Kurt stared at him in shock, barely able to keep his voice to a whisper-shout. Ms. Pillsbury was frowning now, and Kurt knew right then that Karofsky hadn't told her everything. She wouldn't be so confused if he had.

"I want to try again." Karofsky said again, face falling when Kurt didn't readily agree. To anyone else, it would sound like Karofsky just wanted to be friends, but Kurt knew the real reason. He wasn't stupid.

Somehow, even after everything, Karofsky couldn't see that they'd never been _together_ together? No matter how many stupid fucking rose bouquets he'd bought as an apology for punching Kurt's face or breaking Kurt's ribs or calling Kurt a whore, they'd never been anything other than fucker and fuckee. And the best part of dropping this stupid bombshell on Kurt in front of an adult meant Kurt couldn't actually confront the dickhead about his true intentions. "You—you—_no!_ Why the _fuck_ would I ever want anything with you after what you did to me?!" Kurt puttered, his breathing turning ragged. Ms. Pillsbury remained in her seat a cross the desk, still and useless as usual. Kurt glared at her for putting him in this situation and _not helping._

Karofsky's face flushed in embarrassment. "Kurt—"

"No." Kurt shook his head, falling back against his chair. "No, I can't, just _no_…" Christ, just the thought of being with _him_ again made his chest seize up and suddenly, the room felt too small, like the walls were suddenly too close. He rubbed his face, trying to focus his breathing and calm down, but panic started to claw up his throat and he just had to get out.

"Kurt!" Karofsky's voice turned pleading and that caught Kurt's attention. The look on his face, like he was terrified of being rejected, like Kurt was going to hurt _him_…just no. He didn't get to feel like the victim. Not after the shit he pulled.

Kurt stood up abruptly, yanking his backpack over his shoulder violently. Ms. Pillsbury started at the movement, moving her hand towards her cell phone. Probably to call for fucking _Will_. Fuck them. Neither Schue nor Pillsbury cared; Kurt was just a charity case they wanted to use to feel better about themselves. Karofsky watched him with huge eyes and Kurt wanted to hit him. He started to walk away but Karofsky grabbed his sleeve and tugged. A thousand memories of being grabbed and thrown and slapped echoed through Kurt's brain and he turned sharply, rage roaring through him. Ms. Pillsbury stared at them, frozen in place, and Kurt glared at her before leaning into Karofsky's space.

"Maybe a better person than me could have forgiven you," Kurt sneered in his face, close enough to smell the stench of fear pouring off of Karofsky. "But I'm no hero. Fuck you. Stay the hell away from me and Blaine, we won't say anything. I _hate_ you, David," Kurt snarled. Karofsky's first name tasted like ash in his mouth, but Kurt knew it would get the boy's attention. "I'm never going to forgive you and you need to leave me the fuck alone." It was harsh, but true. Kurt met Karofsky's wide eyes, praying that the way his heart beat like a jackhammer wasn't noticeable. He'd never get anywhere if he showed fear.

Karofsky stared back, almost shellshocked. Ms. Pillsbury kept looking between them and Kurt saw she understood that there was something else going on that she hadn't been told.

He didn't care enough to explain it to her. Karofsky could, for all the shits Kurt gave.

"Just…leave me alone." Kurt stepped out of his grip and walked away, leaving Karofsky alone in the chair with their guidance counselor, trying not to give away how badly his hands were shaking. The door banged shut behind him, but Kurt barely heard anything beyond the rushing blood in his ears and his heart pounding in his throat.

He had to pull over halfway home to throw up on the side of the road, ripping off his helmet with numb and shaking hands and choking and heaving until he lost his coffee and breakfast into the dead grass. It was another half hour before he could breathe well enough to be sure that he wasn't going to pass out on the bike.

Panic attacks were such a bitch.


End file.
